


Worse Than Lost

by FadedSepia



Series: Clint Barton Bingo Lines [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blended family, Clint Barton's Farm, Clint and Laura Barton's Family, Discussion of Reproductive Autonomy, Family Dynamics, Hydra Working with the Red Room, M/M, Mentor Bucky, Mentors, Nervous Bucky Barnes, Parenthood, Previous Denial of Reproductive Autonomy, Previous Sexual Abuse, Protective Clint Barton, Red Room (Marvel), Regretable Decisions, The Winter Soldier's Past, Unwanted Parenthood, Who Is the Adult Here?, complicated family dynamics, teachable moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-01-31 20:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/pseuds/FadedSepia
Summary: •    ↣☆↢    •Bucky needs a distraction; a mission, a project –whatever!– he doesn’t care, as long as it gets him off base and out from under Stevie’s smothering. When Clint offers him an out, Bucky takes him up on it, even if it means going to a farm no one’s ever mentioned, and meeting a family that doesn’t exist.•    ↣☆↢    •
Relationships: Eventual light Bucky/Clint, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Clint Barton Bingo Lines [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1311593
Comments: 214
Kudos: 108
Collections: Clint Barton Bingo, Winterhawk Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weepingnaiad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/gifts).

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> This story is dedicated to weepingnaiad. She knows what she did (it was **awesome**, tbh). Thanks and extra hugs in advance to my wonderful beta reader BloodMooninSpace, for going through this so it wasn’t (isn’t) a mess. Additional hugs to USSFriendship, spaceluna, NotTheBlue, and shatteredhourglass for being great sounding boards, and for letting me smash their feels to pieces a few (dozen) times.
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> The title is taken from the last line of the poem _Count That Day as Lost_ by George Eliot.
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky agrees, begrudgingly, to go with Clint, who – to his surprise – has a farm… and a _family._

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

“So, what? It’s not like I’ve never been hurt before, and I’m still here, Stevie.” Bucky shrugged, still scrubbing away at his countertop. The stain was making him almost as crazy as Steve’s worried hovering. It was true that he had been keeping a little _too_ busy – that maybe he had overworked himself and nearly busted his arm with so many recent ops – but it didn’t bother Bucky. Yes, it was annoying to have to sit for the remote repair sessions with Shuri or chance a fix from Tony, but… A little self-injury was nothing to actually worry about; there were worse things, especially when Bucky was left to his own devices. He knew full well that he was a menace when he got bored, and that not having some task on which to focus left his thoughts free to drift into rather dark places. Without work, Bucky found himself just sitting around thinking up shit, and his mind wasn’t exactly the safest place for that sort of thing. 

Ignoring their warnings, Bucky had kept at it – he’d shrugged off Tony’s snark and muted Shuri’s chastisements; he’d carried right on with every mission he could get – until Steve had gone and pulled him from the mission roster two weeks ago. Bucky had been stuck at the SHIELD facility where they’d debriefed with nothing to do but clean his weapons. Then his quarters. Then Steve’s, Nat’s and Sam’s. Then his, _again_, which had brought him back to the coffee stain from hell that just would not come out.

When Steve had shown up this afternoon, a department store bag in his hand and a scowl on his face, Bucky had been hoping his best friend had finally relented, maybe bringing an apology gift. Instead, Steve had bulled his way in and brought all his dumbass anxieties along for the trip. He meant well, but Bucky wouldn’t deal with that level of smothering in his own place. “I thought you’d be coming with good news – maybe an op or something – but if you’re just gonna fuss, go someplace else. Or go soak your head until you remember I don’t die easy, and I _like_ the work.”

“Bucky, to be frank, it’s too dangerous for you to be out in the field right now. Nobody on a regular SHIELD team has the stones – or the_ ability_ – to reign you in, and you’re getting reckless.”

“What I’m getting is bored. I’m not asking for anything official.” Even a little surveillance would be a treat right now, and Bucky could keep out of the way of any actual mission. He wasn’t going to play hero or blow the op. Nobody needed to know, and Bucky was itching to get back out; to be _useful_. “Just drop a hint of where something might go down. ‘s not your fault if I _happen_ to show up.”

“Yeah, and get myself stuck having to cover both our asses the minute somebody sees you?”

Bucky snorted and looked back at Steve over his shoulder, brow quirked. “Sees me?”

“It _is_ happening more, especially now that you don’t shoot every goddamned thing that moves.” Steve was still slumped on his couch, socked feet on Bucky’s coffee table, with Alpine dozing in his lap. “You need to get a handle on it, Buck.”

“I’d have a handle on it if you’d lift the damn house arrest, Stevie.” They’d come full circle, and Bucky realized he wasn’t going to get anything done so long as Rogers was in his apartment. He undid the top ties on his apron and snapped his gloves into the sink. No point fighting this. Steve was a force of nature when he got a wild hair up his ass; trying to stop him was like pissing in the wind, if the wind was fronting a hurricane.

“You know I won’t, Buck.” Steve leaned forward, and the cat – disturbed from his nap – jumped down and padded over to twine himself around Bucky’s ankles. “But you’re right, you can’t keep staying in a SHIELD facility like this one.”

“And why is that, _Cap?”_ He blanched as Steve stood and strode over to him, hands on Bucky’s shoulders and face pressed close almost as fast as Bucky could process.

“Because you’re driving everyone fucking crazy.” Steve’s scowl didn’t fit his face – never had seemed right with how warm he looked otherwise – not like Bucky’s own, but it was there and full on as he answered. Steve patted the seam at his shoulder, then pulled away to slump back beside him, elbows resting on the counter-top. “We voted on it; you’re taking a vacation. You’ve got enough days – _years_ – of accrued leave time, and Barton volunteered to take you out to his farm.”

“And out behind the woodshed, Stevie?” Bucky snorted out a sigh. “I mean, I know I can be a pain in the ass, but a _farm?_ Since when does Barton have a _farm?”_

“I don’t know. Never knew Hawkeye for a farmer, and Tony and Sam hadn’t heard of it, either. Nat brought it up, and Clint got kind of cagey about it…” Steve’s shrugged, gaze drifting to the side, over his shoulder. Bucky cleared his throat, and his friend started back up. “All I know is, according to Natasha, it’d be good for you.”

If that wasn’t the reddest of flags, Bucky wasn’t sure what was. Romanov was capital in the field, but sometimes her idea of _good_ ran on the same track as his own idea of _safe_, followed by a silent _enough_, and not altogether pleasant. “Is this farm something like Tahiti?”

“I asked around – Hawkeye was pretty adamant on not discussing it – but I figured the directors might know something.”

“And?”

“Coulson said it was off the grid, but perfectly safe, and that you would _‘certainly have a pleasant time.’”_ Steve winced slightly, turning back toward him, almost sympathetic. “Fury just sort of smiled and nodded. Take that as you will.”

Poorly, then, since smiles from Nick Fury usually meant something awful was inbound to blow up in their faces. Steve trusted Agent Coulson, and Bucky had no reason not to, but this still didn’t sit right with him. An off-the-books place that nobody knew about, and it belonged to Clint? The idea of the man who could barely keep up an apartment managing a farm was a mindfuck on its own; almost as much as the one that Bucky would _ever_ want to go to it. “What if I say no? I mean, a farm, Stevie? Me? I don’t really do… _that.”_

“It was one pony, Buck…”

“Maybe, but that still doesn’t mean I want to truck my ass out to some farm.” Bucky was all for the outdoors – _if_ there was something to do – but he was a city boy at heart. The idea of spending any amount of time in the middle of nowhere surrounded by fields just wasn’t appealing. Being out there with Clint _might_ be better, but only by the barest margin. “I only wound up stuck here because I got bored. You’re telling me that a farm is going to be _less_ boring?”

“Clint said he had projects he could use help on. It can’t be any worse than sitting around here rearranging the kitchenette.” Steve smirked, punching against his shoulder, heedless of the metal that met his fist. “I’m sure he’ll let you bring the apron, if it means that much to you.”

“Watch your mouth, Stevie…”

Steve jabbed at him again, fist striking lower, landing a blow at his hip and pushing Bucky off balance. “Worried he’d say yes if you asked?”

“Stuff it, punk.” Bucky gave him a friendly smack in retaliation, which Steve returned. They tussled a few seconds, until Bucky got Steve in a hold that was half hug, half headlock, but that – to his horror – still left him open to being tickled.

“Ready to roll, Bucky? Unless I’m, uh, interrupting…?”

“Not really.” Bucky congratulated himself on not offering even a twitch of surprise at hearing Clint Barton’s voice behind him. The archer could be silent, when he wanted, and fighting off Steve – who finally decided now would be the time to let go – had kept his attention. Now Bucky turned it on Clint with a frown. “Heard something about a farm, Barton?”

“Already got your stuff in the truck, Barnes, but, uh…” Clint might have provided a better view than Steve – leaned in the doorway with a small, crooked grin as he pulled down his sunglasses – but his posture was a little too stiff, his gaze just sharp enough to keep Bucky on edge. Clint pushed off the doorframe, ambling into his quarters. His eyes flicked briefly to Steve, before settling back down on Bucky. “… kind of expected you to be changed already.”

“I just told him, Hawkeye.”

Clint rolled his eyes, snatching up the bag Steve had left, shoving it into Bucky’s arms as he leveled a glare at Steve. “Yeah, well I’m on a schedule for this road trip, _Cap.”_ When those blue eyes met his own, though, Bucky could have sworn they looked almost embarrassed. “Sorry, but you need to get changed. You’ll need to – ya know – look a little less… deadly and domestic?”

The apron still hanging loose around his waist definitely clashed with his uniform pants and thermal long-sleeve, but Bucky still offered a grumble as he begrudgingly took the offered bag. It was heavier than he’d expected. Peering into it, the only thing Bucky could tell for sure was that it contained something plaid, and probably shoes. _Great._ He’d be stuck on a farm _and_ dressed like a yokel. Since they came from Barton, though, he could take comfort in knowing they would probably be baggy enough that he could fit his vest, holsters, and sheathes underneath.

As if he’d read Bucky’s mind, Clint shook his head. “You get one firearm, nine mil or lower.”

Bucky might not know what the hell was happening, but he _did_ know that he hadn’t gone that unarmed in public since burgers cost a dime. “One?”

“Don’t chance it, Barnes. ‘Tasha’s doing your pat-down, and it’s not worth it.” Clint waved his hand in the direction of the bedroom, sigh overwrought and long-suffering. “Go on; we’re wasting daylight.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Bucky had stared at the man next to him for the better part of the past hour, but it hadn’t gotten him anywhere. After Barton’s first inquiry as they pulled out from the motel – _“Too cold?”_ – and his own head shake in response, Clint had turned up the radio and ignored him. If they’d been together like this for any other reason, Bucky probably would have enjoyed himself. Compared to the rest of their ever-growing roster, Clint Barton wasn’t hard to deal with. He knew his shit, did his job, and didn’t tiptoe around Bucky like he was broken. Barton was one of only three people Bucky would wholly trust to have his back, and the only one of that number he hadn’t known before he joined the team. And, yeah, Clint could be a shit-show, and a shit-head, but he was real damn easy to look at, and that never hurt unless Bucky looked too long. Which, even confused and pissed, he found himself doing.

Bucky sighed, turning his gaze to the window, catching is own reflection in the glass, and scowling. The ball cap he could handle, even if he didn’t like it, but the plaid wool jacket was hideous, red and black, and swamping him to the point he looked slovenly. That it was over a plaid flannel didn’t help, even if the fabric was soft and warm around him. The only clothing Bucky had been allowed to bring with him had been his own fucking underwear, and that had taken ten minutes of haranguing; Clint had finaly shouted at him to just grab them and get his ass in the truck, then stormed out. Bucky had felt a little like an asshole, especially with Steve giving him the _look_ the whole time, but he hadn’t even been allowed to take his own fucking boots on this mandatory vacation.

Bucky wiggled his ankle, pressing it in against the knife tucked down awkwardly into the dun and brown hiking boot on his right foot. That and the Ruger riding low on his back were the only weapons Romanov had cleared him to bring, and Barton had bitched about the knife. Bucky didn’t truly need them – he was weapon enough – but being without the rest of his usual arsenal had left him feeling naked since they rolled out yesterday. Combined with the boredom of spending hours in a car on silent-ride as far as conversation was concerned, being nearly unarmed had cranked Bucky’s hypervigilance to eleven. He wouldn’t deny that he was paranoid – knew full well that he was probably perfectly safe – but Bucky wanted answers, ones that Clint flat out refused to give, and that secrecy wasn’t making for a pleasant trip.

He huffed, slumping further into the lumpy bench seat, arms crossed. “Give me something, Barton. At least tell me where we’re going.”

“Not much to tell. Good place to put your feet up.” Clint’s hands clenched on the wheel in Bucky’s periphery. “It’s a farm. Couple horses, lotsa goats, and too much corn. Farm’s a farm.”

“Just a farm?” Bucky shifted, one leg drawn in and resting on the seat so he could turn further.

Barton chewed the inside of his jaw a few times. He looked resigned as he answered. “No, not just a farm, but… treat it like one.”

“Clint, c’mon. That don’t help.”

“Yeah, guess not.” The man behind the wheel took a deep breath but nodded. “Probably better I tell you while we’re moving.”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

Even having said that, it was a good three or four minutes before Clint felt like he could really say anything, only staring out the window, watching the early morning drizzle. This was the sort of apocryphal spy shit he’d read about in cheap paperbacks as a kid, but he’d been living it for years now. Keeping it close to his chest was all that had kept his family safe, especially after so many of the other STRIKE teams turned out to have been infiltrated. Three of the facilities – one Clint hadn’t even _known_ about – were gone, along with all their charges. Knowing that most of them had been Agents hadn’t done much to help. “So, you know what happens when field agents retire from SHIELD?”

“I thought most of them went to desks, if they didn’t leave in a box?” Barnes was kind of cute when he tilted his head like that, all confused. “You’re telling me there’s people that stay out long enough to leave?”

“Rarely, yeah, but it’s only forty-five at twenty years if you want out.” Clint’s clock rolled over in two years; unless he was going to bring up the _technicality_ that he’d had twenty years well before he even hit forty. He wasn’t going to be stopping any time soon, but it was a mile-stone because Bucky was right. Most field agents – especially if they’d had a rotation on STRIKE teams – knew there were risks involved, that every job might be the last one. They either moved into training when they hit that twenty-year cut-off or kept going until they took a dirt nap. “You know the phrase bought the farm?”

Bucky chuckled. “I’d better.”

“So, I owned the farm before I started. Well, legally, I owned _half_ the farm, but my brother never spent one day working on it, so I’d count it as mine. And since SHIELD effectively owned me _and_ him, they kinda owned our farm, too, so they sort of grandfathered it into the program without question.”

“Sort of? Are you going somewhere with this? ‘Cause I wanted a _real_ answer.”

Barnes was full on pouting next to him right now, and, if Clint hadn’t felt like such garbage for what he knew would be coming, it could have been cute. As it stood, he took a deep breath and turned down the radio. “Okay, hold up and I’ll backtrack. This job, there’s a lot of collateral damage, right? A lot of broken shit when we’re done?”

“Yeah, if it’s not just blown to hell.”

“Right.” Wasn’t that the damn truth. Property damage was a mission given, _especially_ when Bucky had been involved lately. Even if Barnes was excellent at infiltration, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the exfil. Clint had seen him kool-aid-man his way through enough doors – and _walls_ – to know that the White Wolf didn’t do subtle exits; and he’d cleaned up enough aftermath to remember that the Winter Soldier hadn’t exactly been stingy in leaving behind other sorts of messes, either. “Well, sometimes that collateral that’s left behind is human, if you get my meaning.”

Clint heard the springs squeak, and saw Bucky go paler as his jaw dropped slightly. “Is this a body farm?”

“No.” They had those, of course, but Clint’s farm wasn’t one of them. He’d wanted to put it to better use without associating that warm, sticky corpse smell with it. “Back when SHIELD first got heavy into the covert stuff, one of the agents noticed how many – we call them _remaining dependents_ – crop up after certain missions.”

“Dependents?”

“Kids, mostly. The folks agents leave behind when they bite it, or when they take out a target.” It was an unfortunate reality, but the black bag missions Clint had done for years, and even the more altruistic, world saving ones he did now, left a lot of people behind. Maybe other people could ignore it, but he couldn’t. Two of his teammates, and – arguably – one is his best friends and his second sister, had been RDs from his missions. It was unnervingly common. “One agent who has enough years in sets up a site and takes on the dependents they can handle to make a – well – a family. Since a lot of field agents don’t have time to settle down early, it works out. A farm’s like a voluntary retirement option, and it lets SHIELD feel good about giving the RDs left behind a shot at normal.”

The truth was that most of the sites had grown out of a handful of agents getting fed up with hiding forever once they got out and on the dole. Living together in the middle of nowhere was no less disruptive than witness protection, but at least they could watch out for each other. Taking on a fallen teammate’s kid had probably been the next logical step, and the protocol just seemed to have gone organically from there. SHIELD got remote, secure facilities, and their agents got places to start over or _actually_ fucking retire.

“Honestly, it’s not bad. Plus, you don’t ever know what’ll happen with kids if you try to let the system handle it.” Clint couldn’t help thinking of Daisy, and how much less fucked her life would have been if she’d been somewhere permanently. Not that he could have taken her on – he’d been twenty-five and an idiot when her case rolled across Phil’s desk – but it might have been better if she’d had somewhere to go.

“If they wanna leave?” Bucky had crossed his arms over his chest during their conversation.

“Pardon?”

“What if they want to leave?”

“If they aren’t minors, then they don’t.” The man beside him stiffened, looking away as Clint spoke. “Agents agree to retire for life, just like anyone else that goes there as an adult. The only other option is to turn coat and join up like ‘Tasha did.”

“Romanov was out here?”

“She had the chance, given her age.” Nat had already been fully trained even before then, but Clint had brought her in. He’d insisted she be given the option to at least _enjoy_ a few years of her childhood before she started working with him and Phil full time. There was nothing like a teenager laughing in your face to cut you down to size, and Clint Barton had learned that the hard way. “But someone like Wanda wouldn’t have because of her powers, even if she _had_ been younger.”

“And nobody ever leaves?”

“If you’re dropping someone off, or in to help with managing one of the RDs. But it’s Willy Wonka rules otherwise; nobody in, nobody out, and no spreading around the site locations.” The last one was more an understanding than mandatory. Clint’s family was his top priority, and they were safer if they were secret, just like everyone else that walked away, even if his sister-in-law was technically still on SHIELD’s dole. Aside from the team, Laura and the kids were all he had. Clint would much rather her and the kids be somewhere safe than shuffled all over the country any time someone looked at them sideways; plus, what kid wouldn’t want to grow up on a farm? “It’s not that bad, really. I mean, it’s where I would pick for retirement.” Clint chuckled and winked, trying to lighten the dour mood of the man beside him. It probably wasn’t fair, but he felt compelled to try. “Assuming I make it that long, right?”

“So I’m being put out to pasture?”

“No. Cap needed you out from under foot. Laura, the _other_ Agent Barton, needs help, and you’re uniquely qualified for the job.” Clint turned his best _it’s okay_ smile up full force, reaching his right hand over to pat Barnes on the shoulder. “You’re just the perfect surly stone to take out two birds, that’s all.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ • Clint Barton Bingo:** Road Trip (O3) **• ↣☆↢ •**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The farm proves a bit more interesting than he had thought, but still leaves Bucky out of his element.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note on Laura and Bucky’s names/nicknames/cover names. As she exists in the movies, Laura Barton doesn’t have a lot of… _personality_ or identity. I wanted to give her that, and that’s going to affect her name, especially. Laura is pronounced in this fic as it would be in Spanish, meaning her nickname _Lau_ rhymes mostly with the word _now_. Similarly, _Jaime_ is pronounced as it would be in Spanish. (If I write it to be pronounced _JAY-me_ in a fic, I spell it _Jamie_.)
> 
> That pronunciation is how Bucky winds up with _Dime_ as his nickname, (the _J_ from _Jim_ mispronounced as _D_, plus the _aim_ (mostly rhymes with _time_) from _Jaime_, and dropping the _e_ altogether). Please also note that Nate speaks in broken, toddler, telegraphic-phrase Spanglish, so the question _ ‘Ora nat? _ is a mispronunciation of _ahora_ (now) plus _snack_ without the _s_ and with the _ck_ pronounced as _t_.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

He’d had the next two days to mull over all of the information Clint had dumped on the second night of their trip. No matter which way he turned it, Bucky couldn’t figure out why Clint would want help from _him_, especially if it involved a bunch of kids. Maybe they didn’t speak English? But, no; SHIELD had enough people on the payroll that Bucky was sure somebody should have been able to fill in as a translator. It was just as likely that his being needed was bullshit; Barton was the kind of guy to pull something out of his ass if he thought it might help. The way Clint was still keeping a lot from Bucky, too much information close to his chest, was unnerving, but Hawkeye had done something besides fret and annoy him. Clint had promised this would be their last night in a hotel and brought back takeaway Thai instead of pizza before he locked himself in the bathroom. He might be acting shifty as fuck, but Barton was trying to help, and had at least gotten Bucky off base. That meant a lot.

Bucky slurped his tom yam and leaned further into the pillows on his bed. He needed a shower once Clint got out, and to wash his hair. It had been up in a bun and under that cap most of the trip, so it wasn’t dirty, but he was starting to feel greasy from another day of just stewing in the truck.

The water stopped running, and Bucky heard the click and rising whir of the ventilation fan, along with Clint’s off-key humming. It was still a few more minutes, but then the door creaked open, and Clint finally came back into the room, wearing ratty sweatpants as he toweled off his brown hair.

It was no mean thing, that Bucky had set down the still hot soup container before he snapped his head up, blinking back at his teammate. “What the fuck, Barton?”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

Barnes had kept looking at him like he’d grown another head, and it had come down to Clint pulling out his phone to show the man that his hair had been _purple_ for six months before the guy had backed off with the questions and finally gone to wash up. Clint had taken the time to call Laura and let her know they’d be there after lunch tomorrow. Bucky would probably be a lot to… _handle_ over the next few days, so filling his sister-in-law in as soon as he could was a must. When she’d first mailed him, Clint had planned to come out by himself, or, if he had to bring anyone, to make if Steve or Bruce, or even Jess. Steve would be fine; Bruce would definitely survive, though he would not like it, and Hulk was better about talking these days. Jess was a trash-fire sometimes, and hardly child friendly, but even she’d been higher on his list than Bucky.

Bucky was just about the last person Clint would have wanted to ask for help, but they’d all agreed Barnes needed to get off base before Steve snapped. It would work out; like ripping off a band-aid. That could kill him. Along with everyone in that house, if Bucky put his mind to it… or just _lost_ his mind to it. ‘Tasha had actually been the one to suggest it, and he loved her for that selflessness, but hated that he couldn’t shoot her down and tell her why it was a terrible idea. Especially not with Cap and Stark standing _right_ there on the other side of the table. Things would be fine. _Fine_.

Clint burrowed further into the scratchy hotel blankets and huffed.

“Sleep or talk, Hawkeye. Your twitchin’ is keepin’ me awake.” That Brooklyn accent was thicker than usual as Bucky groused at him with a yawn.

He rolled onto his side, staring across the gap between their beds. “So look. None of the kids you’ll meet tomorrow are actually mine, but they’re all gonna act like it. The oldest and youngest are adopted, and the middle one is my nephew. Laura and I are married on paper, and I’m listed as their _father_ because I’m Barney Barton on paper.”

“Isn’t that your brother?” He couldn’t see Bucky’s face, but Clint could imagine the way his forehead would be furrowed, heavy brows drawing down over his soft grey eyes.

“Was, yeah. He and Laura both worked for the agency, but he went in deep cover and she got out and went to the farm after a few bad missions.” Clint would never know how his fuck-up brother had turned things around to get with someone like Laura Tomás-Alves, but she’d become the sibling Clint had always wanted after the fact. Both he and Barn had been surprised – his brother bordering on pissed – when she’d retired after they picked up Lila, but, at this point, he couldn’t blame her. They’d all seen enough shit to give a sane person nightmares by then. Clint even joked that he only kept going because he’d miss the insomnia if he stopped. That had been years ago, back when Barney was still alive, and ‘Tasha was still green. “Barn was supposed to retire, and that’s when he and Laura had Cooper… Coop’s eleven, now.”

“Mmm.” Bucky shifted and the bedframe squeaked. “Are the other two that young?”

“No, Lila’s fourteen, we picked her up after a double-agent mission just across the border in Dobruja.” She’d been just toddling then, a little toothless thing with a thin face, showing no hint of the absolute pain in the ass she’d become once she learned to tantrum. Her younger brother hadn’t travelled so far when Lau adopted him, but Clint still needed to warn Bucky before they got there; some kids just _looked_ like their parents, and Nate was definitely one of those. “The littlest one – Nate – is just past two. Laura’s had him since he was born, a couple months after the whole Insight fiasco.”

“After?”

“His mother was one of our flight technicians.” Clint hadn’t ever known which one, and he didn’t need to. Whoever she’d been, Clint wouldn’t ever blame her for that choice. “STRIKE Agent Rumlow was the father.”

“Ah.” Whether he was already half asleep or the revelation about Clint’s youngest had just fried a small portion of his brain – again, something Clint could completely understand – Bucky was quiet after that.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Clint Barton looked strange, his blond hair darkened to warm brown and with coloured contacts, his gait closer to a march, back ramrod straight as he stepped up onto the farmhouse porch. Bucky stood behind him, still on the stairs as he knocked, unsure of what to expect when the door opened.

“Coming.” The woman’s voice that echoed out to them carried the barest twang and spoke to growing up much farther south of the Iowa farmstead they’d come to. There was a series of clicks, recognizable as a few deadbolts and a safety chain coming off, before the door swung inward. A tall brunette stepped onto the porch and froze, hand lifting almost to her mouth before Clint spoke.

“Hey, Lau.”

“Clint.” Laura stepped in to pull him close for a hug, rocking a little. She shook her head as she stepped back, brown eyes wide with lingering shock. “Fuck, if it doesn’t get me every time.” She looked Clint up and down with a sigh, then turned and walked right back into the house. “Come on in.”

Clint walked in after her, and Bucky followed, trailing the pair back to the kitchen. Laura stood at the counter, recipe box open in front of her. She glanced back at him, then to Clint. “So, who’s your guest this time?”

“Jaime Bruckner.”

“Right, cousin Jim from Newark. Let’s find his ID.” Thumbing through the recipe cards, Laura lifted a driver’s license, along with a few other cards, from the painted wooden box. She opened one of the cutlery drawers, pulling out a leather wallet and stuffing the cards inside.

Laura held the wallet out until Bucky finally realized he was supposed to take it. “Your hair was a lot shorter, and you’ve put some muscle on since college, but you’re former navy and Virginia licenses are black and white. Doubt anyone will care, anyway.” Laura put the box back in the cabinet.

Clint tugged Bucky’s elbow, walking back through the house and showing him into a cozily appointed guestroom. He sat down on the quilted bedspread and patted the space beside him.

Bucky sat, staring at the license that had already been here waiting for him. The picture was composite edit, but he wouldn’t have realized if he hadn’t recognized his old enlistment photo. It was good, and Clint had told him to stop shaving the day they left, so Bucky’s beard scruff was a pretty close match at this point.

As if he could sense Bucky’s confusion, Clint patted a hand against his back. “We weren’t sure you’d be able to stick around when we brought you in. I set up an identity for you here, just in case.”

“Because you couldn’t trust me?”

“Because Steve would never agree to wiping you and turning you out. Or to killing you.” Barton rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, gaze on the window. “I’m glad we didn’t have to do either.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Bucky stood long enough to slip the wallet into his front pocket and belatedly take off his cap. He dropped it on the bedpost, then glanced to the man beside him, chin in hand. “Barton, why am I here?”

“To spend leisure time in an idyllic and relaxing place?” The question was accompanied by a smirk and a wink.

“That’s the only reason? Really?”

“Look, I…” Clint carded his fingers through his hair, shoulders lifting. “Lau and I need some help with a project, and you kept saying you were bored, so-”

“Clint?” Her voice closer that he’d been expecting, Bucky tensed when Laura spoke from the doorway. “Have you got him settled?”

“We’re good. Just filling Jim in on some stuff.” Barton pushed up from the bed. “But we can finish up after dinner. Why?”

“The kids are gonna be back from school in an hour or so, and you know how they get about company.” Laura motioned for Bucky to stand up, then started down the hallway, heading up the stairs. “I think Jimmy should meet Nate before the other little hellions get here.”

Bucky followed, with Clint ambling behind him as he asked, “School going alright?”

“Coop got his first girlfriend last week, but she dumped him in the lunch line.”

“Barton luck right there.” Clint chuckled from behind them. “How’s Li?”

Laura paused for a barely perceptible moment on the last riser, then shook her head. “Brooding, but healthy as always. Today is the last day of her suspension, so she’s back in her normal classes come Monday.”

“Kid shouldn’t’ve grabbed her ass; she was right to deck him.”

Now in the upstairs hallway, Laura turned, leaning around Bucky in the narrow corridor to glare at Clint. “We should be glad he’s not in the hospital.”

“Maybe…” Despite it being Clint that spoke, Laura seemed to be looking at the both of them now.

Bucky shifted. Getting into the middle of a family argument was not part of the relaxing idyllic vacation Clint had just pitched downstairs. Between his family, Steve’s family, the Commandos, and the team that had taken him in and shipped him out here, Bucky had had quite enough of _family_ squabbles. Changing the subject wouldn’t be a bad option. “So introductions?”

“Right, yes. You’ll love Nate.” Laura’s smile was as false as they came, guarded eyes focused solely on him as she opened one of the hallway doors. “He’s a cuddler.”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

The little boy’s room was horse themed. Draft horses, ponies, and even a few unicorns seemed to be on everything, including the blanket he now held as he stood at the edge of his crib. Brown eyes focused on Bucky, wide and curious under a messy fall of dark hair.

“Did you have a good nap, sweetie?”

Nate nodded, reaching his hands around her neck as Laura bent to pick him up. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “‘Dias, Momma.”

“Afternoon, peanut.”

Nate shook his head – “No, Momma. ‘Dias. Wate up.” – then looked back over Laura’s shoulder at the two men still standing just outside his room, contemplatively gumming the cuff of his shirt. “Hi, Pop-Tint. Who is?”

“Nate, this is Poppa Clint’s friend Jaime. He’s gonna stay with us a while.”

Bucky cringed a little at the introduction. _Jaime_ wasn’t even _close_ to anything he’d ever been called. He wasn’t going to remember to answer to it, and knew he’d sound awful even trying to say it. “Hi, Nate. I’m Jim.” Not the best, but a name Bucky wouldn’t murder everytime he spoke it.

Nate tilted his head, considered little face scrunching as he stared. He popped a wet edge of sleeve out of his mouth, then reached a hand up to Bucky. “Hi, Dime.”

“Dime?” Bucky pointed back at himself.

Nate nodded, mumbling as he shoved his soggy cuff back into his mouth.

“Named and claimed.” Laura chuckled, settling Nate on her hip. “Ready to go downstairs, peanut?”

“Momma, Dime can hold?”

“Uh…” Clint turned his attention from Nate back to him. “If he says it’s okay.”

Bucky was fine with kids, but – with the way she’d been giving him the evil eye since he arrived – he wasn’t totally clear on whether Laura was alright with _him._ Head swiveling between her and Clint, and getting a tepid nod from one and a shrug from the other, he held out his arms. “Alright.”

Bucky took the toddler, cradling him as much as he could with his right arm, not wanting to worry about pressing too hard with the prosthetic. The little boy clung to him immediately, already trying to worm himself between Bucky’s open flannel and his t-shirt, curling against Bucky’s chest as he went back to chewing on his sleeve. “You weren’t kidding about cuddles.”

“It sometimes feels like it takes a crowbar to get him off, so let me know if he gets too heavy.” Laura’s hand rubbed his back, her voice dropping as she asked. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah, he’s a kid.” Nate wasn’t at fault for anything other than a few gummy handprints on Bucky’s shirt. As unnerving as the thought of him might have been the night before, this quiet, tiny toddler was the polar opposite of the former SHIELD agent Bucky had known. Not least of all because – for _some_ reason – the kid seemed to have taken a shine to _him_, of all possible people. Bucky sincerely hoped that the toddler wasn’t part of why he was out here. He really did _not_ want to consider it as a possibility. But Nate was warm, soft and chunky in the way small children tended to be, and he didn’t smell like dirty nappy, so it was a non-issue. “It’s fine.”

“Is fine.” Nate nodded, snuggling closer. “‘Ora ‘nat?

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Aside from one trip to _‘go potty,’_ Nathanial Pietro Barton had refused to let Bucky put him down for the rest of the afternoon, even for snack time. Clint had apologized, and Laura had laughed, but Bucky had actually been relieved. At the rate he was going, Nate was on the fast-track to ruin all the hideous plaid shirts that had somehow wound up in Bucky’s luggage. He internally cheered with each spill; every dribble of beet puree was one dribble closer to being able to replace his wardrobe.

Bucky and the youngest Barton had settled in the living room to watch cartoons, leaving Clint and Laura some privacy to catch up over coffee in the kitchen. It was illusory – Bucky could still hear most of what they were saying, even with the television up and Nate giggling and bouncing in his lap – but Bucky tried to ignore them, anyway. Most of it seemed to be about issues with their daughter. Still odd to think of Clint in terms of being a_ dad_ – Bucky _had_ been in Barton’s apartment before – butClint had called them his _kids_. Bucky didn’t envy either of them dealing with a teenager. High school drama was a shit show, and it sounded like Clint’s oldest hadn’t been spared the family knack for hunting down trouble. Of course, fighting at that age wasn’t the worst thing. Bucky had scrapped a tonne in high school and… He chuckled; maybe Laura and Clint were right to worry.

**• ↣☆↢ •**

Bucky and Nate were another half-hour into their _Dog Cops_ marathon when he heard footfalls pounding up the porch steps, announcing the arrival of the other two children. While he might not have been able to see too well into the kitchen, Bucky could hear the door slam back. The first child through, a blur of hoodie and flying backpack, arms outstretched for a hug, slammed into Clint’s hip with enough force to make Bucky wince. “Poppa Clint! Missed you so much!”

“Hey, Coop! Missed you, too.” Clint hefted the boy off the floor, pressing a raspberry against his cheek before setting him down. “But isn’t there a house rule about boots in the kitchen?”

“Right, sorry!” Bucky didn’t have the best view, but he could admit that Cooper seemed to take after Clint. The kid even moved like him a little, flailing and tripping on his own feet as he tried to unlace his muddy boots. “I wanted to beat Lila.”

“Yeah, and you almost tripped me, you little asshole.”

“Language!”

“Sorry, Mom. Welcome back, Pop.” Lila must have toed her shoes off at the door; she was in socks once Bucky caught sight of her, slumped into a lean against Clint as she hugged him.

He patted her hair fondly. “Hey, doodles. What’s up?”

The girl’s voice was low, but, with his enhancements, Bucky had no trouble hearing her, even in whispers and with him in the other room. “High school sucks. Life sucks. People suck. And boys suck the worst.”

“Not all people suck, and some people are boys.”

“Maybe…” Lila’s hands squeezed tighter around Clint’s waist. “When you leave this time, can you take me with you?”

“No can do, kiddo; work is dangerous, and Nat says my couch is a health hazard.”

“Can you bring Auntie Nat back to visit? Or somebody that doesn’t suck?”

“I did bring a friend.” Clint made eye contact across the bar-top, smile looking a little ragged around the edges, leaving Bucky more certain that – perhaps – he really shouldn’t have come.

“Yeah?” The young girl looked up at him, hands sliding from the long hug to settle on her hips. “Is it a cool friend, or is it Uncle Phil, again?”

“Phil is cooler than you might believe.” Clint put a hand on Lila’s head, purposely mussing her hair until she batted his hands away. “But, no, a different friend. I promise he doesn’t suck, and… He’s. The. Coolest.”

“Really?”

Clint winked at her. “Cool as ice.”

Bucky took that as his cue to stand up, still cradling Nate in his arms as he stepped into the kitchen.

Clint motioned for Lila to turn around as Laura and Cooper slipped in on his other side. “Kids, this is Jim Bruckner.”

Bucky had to smile, seeing Clint’s secret family, and feeling a little spike of warmth at the level of trust that implied.

Aside from brown eyes that matched Laura’s, Clint’s nephew looked like Bucky’s teammate recast in miniature, from the crooked smile, to the freckles, to rats’ nest of blond hair freed when he’d yanked off his beanie. Bucky wondered if bruises and at least one broken nose before high school were a requirement for being a Barton, but had to admit Coop was a cute kid, gap-teeth and all. His sister – as Bucky had expected – didn’t resemble him in the slightest, with her dark hair pulled back on the top and lose behind, thick and just barely wavy at the ends where it brushed her shoulders. She seemed to be growing into her nose, heavy brows drawn low over soft grey eyes that looked achingly familiar; they took Bucky right back to high school, and mornings kicking each other under the dining table, and, “Becca?”

“Who?”

Bucky cleared his throat, blinking. “I’m sorry, Lila, right?”

“Yeah…” She looked up at Clint, not even bothering to keep her voice down. “You said he was cool.”

“He’s got a robot arm and he speaks six languages.”

It was nine, but Bucky didn’t correct him, too off kilter and stunned to do much more than nod and twiddle the metal fingers of his free at her in a wave.

“Neat!” Cooper waved back as Laura’s hand settled on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“So does Uncle Phil, and he’s still lame.” Lila rolled her eyes, but stepped forward, right hand hooking his left in an awkwardly bent handshake. She tipped her chin at the toddler still clinging to him. “But Nate likes you, so I guess you’re alright. Nice to meet you, Mr. Bruckner.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Trying to interact with Clint’s family at dinner had been like pulling eye-teeth. He couldn’t talk to one Barton without feeling like he was ignoring the other, and the kids were rowdy and loud. Well, Coop was loud, and Lila kept talking over him to shut him up. Nate seemed more than happy to quietly eat his cut up half-slice of homecoming pizza, but only after Laura had moved his booster chair between Clint’s elbow and Bucky’s right side. Before that, he’d been screaming bloody murder for the first ten minutes of dinner once Bucky had plunked him down in the high chair, to the befuddlement of everyone at the table. Although, Bucky had to admit that the littlest Barton was certainly the easiest for him to handle, since Nate was content with only his presence and food, and didn’t send the wheels in Bucky’s head turning any time he looked over at the little boy. The table was round – with Laura on his left, and Clint and Nate on his right – which left Bucky trapped, staring at their other children through the whole meal.

Watching Cooper eat, talking as he did so, was a head-trip of the weirdest fucking kind, mostly because he was the one Bucky would have easily picked out as Barton’s kid, even in a crowd. He and Clint had been friends almost from the minute Stevie’d brought him in. Bucky liked the guy, and – with both of them often up and away from the rest of the team – they’d spoken a lot over the last few years. Still, he hadn’t known a damn thing about this place, or these people, not even the kid that could have passed for Clint’s own tiny clone as he tried to fit an entire slice of pizza into his mouth in one bite. How much more at risk was the little punk, along with his siblings, because Clint had brought even one more person out here?

Lila was better, in some respects, but also a bit worse. Once he’d gotten past the initial shock, Bucky had been able to objectively say there was a good deal of similarity, but admit that her resemblance to Becca was just superficial. He didn’t remember his sister all that well. Like so many memories from before Hydra had picked him up, his recollection of her was hazy. He had two photographs of her – one from her bat mitzvah, and the other from her wedding – but they were both black and white. Grainy, monochrome photos and a brain like a patched sieve weren’t conducive to accurate recall, at least as far as his past was concerned. That he had immediately made the connection between Becca and Lila, though? That probably meant that Stevie had been right. Bucky needed this vacation; confusing Clint’s daughter with a woman he knew had been dead since nineteen fifty-three was proof of that.

**• ↣☆↢ •**

By the time Laura had gotten all the tubs of ice cream out, though, Bucky had found himself enjoying the clamour. Cleanup was easy enough, stacking plates in the dishwasher and crushing the cardboard from the take-and-bake pizzas, then sending the children off to fight over which game was best played while eating double-fudge caramel. Something he had really wanted a little of for himself, before Clint and Laura had insisted he have what they were having. “So, this is what, again?”

“Redneck Affogato.” Laura passed him the mug with a smile. “Rocky road with coffee that’s been sitting out all day.”

“Just smush it all up.” Clint was already halfway through his, talking with his mouth full. “It’s better like that.”

Bucky looked down at the swirl of coffee and ice cream blobs with a mild grimace. Usually, he did sweets with his coffee, not in it, but… “Ish gooht.” He smiled around the tepid mouthful.

Clint gave him a nod and a thumbs up. “Aren’t you gonna have some, Lau?”

“I married into this family, remember? Caffeine actually _works_ on me, and I want to get to sleep at a decent hour. I’m going to go negotiate a truce and put my feet on the coffee table. And I’ll wrangle the herd to bed so you two can talk over the projects.” Laura picked up the near empty container of double fudge ice cream in one arm, and scooped Nate up in the other. “Isn’t that why Jaime came out here?”

Clint didn’t offer an answer as Laura walked into the other room, Nate waving back drowsily over her shoulder. “Bye, Pop-Tint. Bye Dime.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **Clint Barton Bingo:** Brock Rumlow
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **WinterHawk Bingo:** The Farm House
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint’s long-term project isn’t a what. It’s a _who_ and – right now – more than Bucky is prepared to handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best to put the warnings up for this fic, however, I will restate them because this chapter is the reason for the archive warning.
> 
> **Important Note:** This chapter features discussions of and references to: implied past sexual abuse; issues of non-consent; and diminished or absent physical, sexual, and reproductive autonomy. However, there is no direct discussion or description of sexual acts within this chapter.
> 
> This is an _**emotionally heavy**_ chapter.
> 
> If you would like to read the story without having to read this chapter, you can skip to the end for a **TLDR** note.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Mugs away and boots back on, Clint had pulled Bucky out through the kitchen door and started off toward the back of the property.

Being away from the rest of the family gave Bucky a chance to apologize; he hadn’t meant to come off like a weirdo. “I’m sorry about earlier, Cl- Barton.” Bucky almost slipped, but remembered to go with Hawkeye’s last name. Technically, he could call anyone out here _Barton_, but he’d be using it for Clint. Bucky calling the man _Barn_ – or even _Barney_ – was too fucking confusing. “Lila just reminded me of someone.”

“You only have to worry about _my_ fake name off the property, _Jim_. And it’s fine.” Clint kept walking, leading them to a little shed at the edge of the cluster of pens and outbuildings surrounding the house. Bucky wasn’t even surprised to see him look in through the peephole before the door opened for them with a hiss; SHIELD was involved, so there was bound to be some secretive shit. Clint nodded back to him. “Your scans are on file to open it, too.”

Bucky followed his lead; into the shed, back to a storage cabinet, through another round of scans and down the hidden stairwell inside. By his estimate, they ended up two stories down, locked in a bunker that looked like it had probably been down there since the cold war started. It was all featureless concrete and built-ins; spartan, save for a battered filing cabinet. Bucky genuinely felt a little relieved, knowing that all of this was here. Clint being Clint, this wasn’t the only hidey hole on the property. Still, it was a comfort to know there was someplace to be if things went sideways. Vacation or not, having a place to literally bunk down settled Bucky, far more than pizza and ice cream.

Clint pointed out one of the benches along the wall, silent as he unlocked the cabinet and rooted through its files, leaving Bucky nothing to do but sit down and wait for him. Pulling out a blue cardstock folder, Clint crossed the room and settled onto the bench at his side. Barton stared at the folder – clutched in both hands – and sighed as he held it out for Bucky to take.

The label was in script – Bulgarian Cyrillic – and he was looking at it upside down, but that was no issue for him. _ДЪЩЕРЯТА 08 [ЛИЛЯНА]_.

_Lilyana?_

“You didn’t need to apologize about earlier.” Clint tapped the folder against the back of his hand, cardstock tinking on the metal before Bucky finally took it. “It’s understandable; I should have expected it.”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

Bucky hadn’t opened the folder. He was still looking back at Clint quizzically, head tilted to the side just so, the hair that had wriggled its way out of its tie falling into his face. He looked sincerely lost as he asked, _“Expected?”_

“Look, you can probably read faster than I can talk, so…” Clint nodded, wishing he could look away. How the hell had he thought this would be a workable idea, let alone a _good_ one? Sure, Bucky was doing well. He hadn’t had any sort of _issue_ in over two years, aside from getting a little too mission-busy, but… But then Clint just had to go and agree that – _‘sure, Natasha’_ – this would be an excellent place for their centenarian teammate to _relax_. With Bucky already slated to come out, it had seemed like an opportunity, but that had only been the last shred of Clint’s optimism talking.

“What the fuck?” Folder open in his left hand, Bucky squinted confusedly at the file inside, eyes flicking down the first page before he turned it over, volume rising. “What the fuck?” His gaze ticked – left, right, left, right – breath speeding as he read through that first page. Then the second. The third. The papers slipped through his fingers, drifting onto the floor as a high, thready sort of growl started coming from the man on the bench beside Clint. Bucky was trembling when he finally dropped the last one. He turned wounded eyes back at Clint and flung the blue folder into his face as he stormed to the far corner of the tiny bunker.

Clint stooped to pick up the papers scattered around his feet just as Bucky’s right fist bit into the concrete. He struck steadily, blow after blow, until the arm below his elbow was buried in the wall of the bunker. After a few seconds of silence, Clint released the breath he’d been holding. The walls down here were a metre thick; but they were also sixty years old, and Bucky was Bucky. Clint hadn’t expected him to react well to this.

Barnes was still faced into the corner – head down and chest heaving – his breath ragged as it echoed off the bunker walls.

Clint set aside the file, but stayed seated. He wasn’t out of the woods – not by a long shot – but he wasn’t dead yet, either; he’d count that as lucky, considering.

Bucky pounded into the wall one more time, but the punch was weak, off-centre from the others. There was – for him – barely any force behind it. The punch left a faint, bloody spiderweb of cracking in its wake as Bucky slumped down into the corner. Head resting along the seam of the walls, he curled in on himself, still silent.

“Bucky?” Clint fought to keep his voice even in spite of the hammering of his own pulse in his ears. One of them needed to be calm. “Bucky, are you with me?”

“I don’t want to be! _Fuck!”_ His voice was rasped and phlegmy. Though he didn’t turn around, Bucky brought his bloodied hand up to push at his face, the left curled over his head like he was hiding. “Fuck, Clint…”

“Yeah.” It was hardly a comforting answer, but Clint was at a loss. He had no idea how he was supposed to soothe the man huddled in the corner, other than just being here. Clint had dealt with a lot of abusive shit over the years, and been there when his friends were trying to manage their own, but this level of invasion was so far beyond his purview that all Clint could think to do was to stay; to be there when Bucky turned back around.

“How long have you known?” Bucky was still looking away, but now he seemed to be rocking, head dipping in shallow bobs.

“It took a while after we… after we found her.” Barney had already been pushing for an exit, even then, arguing that a decade of clean-up work on a STRIKE team was more than enough. He and Laura wanted to start a family, anyway, and the infant had nowhere else to go. It had been off-putting for Clint to think of his brother – even married and with a decade of therapy under his belt – raising a child, but Barn and Lau had agreed, and it had made sense at the time. They were both SHIELD trained and loyal, with a house that would be easy to secure and neighbours that wouldn’t ask too many questions. Plus, sweet or not, the little girl’s file made clear she was a product of some failed Red Room program; adopting her out to civilians was a non-option.

Laura had shortened her name, the paperwork had gone through, and Lila Edith Natalie Barton had moved back to Iowa with her happy parents.

From there, Clint had expected things to settle. Yes, babies were usually little disease incubators, but – though it seemed she’d been neglected, and despite her file labelling her status as _FAILURE_ – Lila had seemed healthy. None of the doctors with SHIELD had found anything wrong with her, except for being a little malnourished and touch starved. With Lila now having two doting parents, along with plenty of sunlight and fresh air, Clint had considered it mission accomplished.

It was another few weeks before any of them had even a hint that something might truly be off about the newest Barton. Despite seeming to bounce back, getting the literal best of care, Lila started showing symptoms of… _something_. She had unexplained fevers, but didn’t seem to be bothered by them. She would turn on a dime from energetic and bubbly to lethargic, sometimes wobbling over and flopping onto the floor mid-crawl. She was constantly fussy unless she was eating; and, even though she was eating far more than any infant should, Lila kept dropping weight.

Whatever was wrong with her, it wasn’t endocrine, or glandular; diabetes had been the first thought, but her pancreas was fine, even if her blood sugar was a little low after one of her wobbly moments. Lila didn’t have a tapeworm or a tumour, or any sort of marrow cancer, either. It wasn’t seizures, or a failing organ. It wasn’t nano-machines, and it didn’t seem alien or magic or otherwise extradimensional. Eventually, the decision was made to just get as many calories as possible into her tiny system and… that had seemed to work. Even if no one could figure out how an otherwise normal baby needed to consume twenty-five hundred calories per day, it had worked, and Lila had gone back to being a happy, trouble-making toddler.

Clint could have left it at that, but Lila was family. She’d already been almost like a daughter to him, and – even if he hadn’t ever told his partner about the little girl’s condition – Clint had gotten too many Red Room horror stories from Natasha to let it lie. He pressed Phil into going through every scrap of the files they’d retrieved, trying to piece together what had gone on, why an organization known for training school-aged orphans had switched to infants.

What they’d found had not been pretty, even if it had been an answer. Daughter Eight’s mother was deceased, the father listed under a single name that sent Clint slapping the binder closed and almost storming out of the room. Nat hadn’t spoken about her pre-SHIELD training with him too often, and rarely mentioned names, but Clint knew this one; recognized the diminutive the Red Room had used as code for a monster. _ЯША. Yasha._ Clint hadn’t looked for any more answers after that. He’d known what chasing that ghost might bring back on them.

Just as he’d known what bringing that man – _Yasha, Jim, James, Bucky_ – back here might cause. He was jolted from his reverie as Barnes spoke again.

“How long?” Bucky had turned back around while Clint’s eyes had been on the floor. He was still sat in the corner, but with his knees drawn in, arms wrapped tightly around them.

“We only confirmed once your signature went into the genetic database after you got back.” Clint fought the catch in his throat to keep talking. “When we first got a sample from Steve, we thought the file might have been wrong – that she might’ve been his – since Lila’s symptoms mimicked some of what he reported with the serum, but she didn’t match.”

_“Stevie’s?!”_ His bellow was incredulous; Bucky pushed himself up from the floor, striding forward, but stopping at arm’s distance, still yelling. “She fucking _looks_ just like me!”

“Yeah. With you next to her, she does, and it’s…” As much as he wanted to, Clint couldn’t fix this. Any comfort he tried to offer Bucky now would come across as hollow; it was Clint’s decision that had brought him here in the first place. Clint wanted to look away, but the man standing before him deserved better than that. “You were a ghost, and it was thirteen years ago, Bucky. The Winter Soldier was nothing but rumours and a trail of corpses back then, and we hadn’t… Nobody even thought _you_ were alive until she was ten.”

“Who knows?”

“Barn knew some of it…” His brother had told him not to go digging, content with his daughter being well and safe. Now, Clint almost wondered if maybe Barney hadn’t been right. “Just me, Laura, Fury, and Phil, now. I never even told Nat about… _you_, and we found Lila together.”

“Your fuckin’ fake wife knows, but you don’t tell me?!”

Clint deserved the words – the ire and the betrayal – but Laura sure as shit didn’t. He kept control of his response as best he could. Clint tried not to yell, but it wasn’t really Clint that was answering; it was Hawkeye, primed for a fight, ready to run in shooting, whether or not he should. “First off: Laura is Lila’s mother and my sister. She’s been my _fake_ wife twice as long as she was Barney’s real one, and you will not _ever_ talk about her like that again.” He sucked in a breath, hands clenched on his knees, palms itching as he stared down the man standing over him. “Second: Laura is a trained agent whose job is making sure Lila can handle herself once she’s out in the world. A job she’s been doing ten years longer than you’ve been off ice, Barnes, and don’t think for a second she hasn’t been the best fucking parent Lila could have!”

The echo of his own voice was too loud in his ears. Clint knew he shouldn’t have ended shouting; Bucky was gawking at him, gaze unfocused. “Buck, I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m-”

“Shut. Up.” Bucky sat, legs crossed, and dropped his face into his hands. After a few deep breaths, he shook himself upwards, face blank and eyes cold. “I will ask you questions. You will answer them.”

Clint nodded. Rules of conduct on Barnes’ terms would give him at least a modicum of control after all that this shared secret had stripped away. Clint was careful in his tone, neither too guarded nor too loud when he answered. “I will answer them.”

“Where’s the- Who was her mother?”

“File listed initials, and that she was dead.” All of them had been, when Clint and Phil had checked. They knew it wasn’t a coincidence that each mother had come up deceased once her daughter passed three months. “Cleanup, covering their tracks.”

“Are there…” Bucky grimaced, audibly swallowing a gag before he asked, “Are there more?”

“There were.” Clint thought of stopping, but Bucky nodded slowly, leaning in when he paused. He brushed the back of the blue folder with his hands. Clint looked down at it, palm pressing to the cool concrete, then turned his gaze back to Bucky. “They tried a dozen, but most of them starved, by the pictures and what we could find in the records. Lila was the _failure;_ and that’s probably what let her survive.”

“Starved?”

“Super high metabolism. Our best guess is the others got it full force too early.” His daughter had been ridiculously lucky, and Clint would never stop being grateful about it. “They were burning too many calories for a baby to even eat. Lila ate double at first, and still needs more calories than she should for her size.”

“Does she-? Does Lila know?” It was the first time Bucky had said his daughter’s name since dinner. It tripped out of his mouth and left the man on the floor looking lost – small and fragile – once he’d said it.

“She knows she’s adopted, yeah. We didn’t want to hide that from her.” That wasn’t the whole truth. Deciding whether Lila _should_ know had been the last fight he and Barney ever had; the last time Laura had ever stepped in to break them up. In the end, Barn had only agreed on the grounds that Lila might need to know if something else went wrong, like it had started to last spring. Clint rattled his thoughts back into order with a shake of his head. “But she doesn’t know about you and her, no.”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

That was oddly comforting, assuaging some of the roiling guilt that had come out of nowhere as Bucky had fought to process what he was reading. There was so much that he didn’t remember or know; so many moments that Hydra had stolen from him, but this one. _This one._ Bucky clenched his hand until his metal fingers ground and squeaked. “What did you tell her? About her… her _symptoms?”_

“We tried to keep it under wraps, but she really noticed when she gashed her leg open on a stump in fifth grade. It was healed up in two days. Not as fast as you, but still faster than normal, and she’s only been sick two or three times in her life.” Across from him, Clint dropped his forehead into his palm for a moment. When he looked back up, chin resting on clasped hands, it was with resignation. “We just… told her that she was special. Made sure she was careful about not getting hurt at school; made her keep wearing bandages after she healed if she did get hurt. Lau promised we’d find someone to help with…” Clint cut his eyes away as his words trailed off.

“To help with _what?”_

“Lila started showing other…” Barton paused, again, like he was chewing over the word in his mouth before he spoke. “… _abilities_, recently. Little things at the start – complaining about how loud everyday noises were, getting these hot flashes at weird times – me and Lau weren’t concerned until she opened that door.”

That wasn’t enough of an explanation, and Bucky assumed his expression conveyed as much when Clint went on.

“Sorry. Door to the old grain silo. It was welded shut back in the eighties.” That shrug of his was heavier; Clint looked too much like a man bearing the weight of the world for it to be otherwise. “Then she almost sent that boy who grabbed her ass to the ER. She didn't even punch him; it was a slap that laid him out. Laura… we agreed she needed someone to test her limits against, to teach her how to handle it and talk her through some of it.”

Barton finally looked at him – pleadingly – and there it was. _That_ was why he’d brought Bucky out here, even if Clint had made it crystal fucking clear from the start that he wasn’t doing so gladly. “Me?”

“Well, I sure as shit can’t.” As overwhelming as his own pain felt, Bucky almost winced at the hopelessness in Barton’s voice. “Was gonna ask Steve or Bruce. Jess, even, if I had to.”

Clint wouldn’t meet his eyes, so Bucky would make him. He scooted forward, until he was able to look up at Clint where he sat, knees nearly over Barton’s feet. “Would you ever have told me?”

“Not if we could have helped it. There’s enough people cropping up with powers recently that Lila would just be one more and...” Barton literally slumped back into the wall, staring at the ceiling to avoid him. The shifting angle of the fluorescent lighting brought out the shimmering trails on his face, ones that Bucky knew matched his own. “Shit, Bucky; I know it sounds fucked up, but I didn’t want you hurt by this. Hydra had taken so many choices from you… It… It didn’t seem fair, after all that…”

That wasn’t the answer Bucky had expected, nor one he’d wanted to hear. Hadn’t he deserved to know? If he and Barton were colleagues – not even assuming they were _friends_ – Bucky would have been bound to meet his kids someday, even if it was at Hawkeye’s funeral, and… “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t see any resemblance?”

“I hoped.” Clint blinked and shrugged, again. “Lau told me I was being naive.”

“Or just a fucking idiot.” Noble motives or not, Bucky couldn’t square with Clint’s reasoning, nor completely with the reality of what it all meant. Not yet. Maybe not ever, but he couldn’t stay down here where that unwanted knowledge had been heaped on him; he couldn’t sort through it all with Barton staring down at him in this stupid bunker either, and planning was – for the moment – easier than feeling. His voice sounded hollow in his own ears, just shy of monotone as Bucky asked, “So now what?”

“That’s up to you.” Finally looking back down, Clint sighed. “Are you… will you be alright staying?”

That was a surprise. Clint and Steve had practically press-ganged him out to the truck to come here, and now Bucky’s stay was suddenly optional? “All this cloak and dagger, top secret shit, and you’d just let me leave?”

“I’m not- I wouldn’t _force_ you, Bucky.”

“I don’t _want_ to stay…” What Bucky wanted right then was to get out of this room and break something, or to just start pounding back into the wall, and maybe take a few swings at Barton while he was at it. It wouldn’t help in the long term, but it would tire him out a little; burn off some energy and give him an outlet, offer something into which he could pour all of the emotions screaming through his brain. That, however, wouldn’t do jack-shit to fix the problem, and certainly wouldn’t endear him to his- to Lila. He might not want to stay, and it didn’t fucking make sense to feel otherwise, but Bucky couldn’t shake the notion that he owed it to Lila not to leave. He’d survived all the serum bullshit – sure – but he’d already been pushing thirty, and he’d known what was happening at the beginning, even if that choice hadn’t been his, either. Bucky might have wanted to bolt, “But she needs me, right?”

“We both do…” Clint lifted his hand – like he might have if he was going to pat Bucky’s shoulder – but dropped it back onto his knee. “Biologically, you might be her father, but… Lila’s always going to be my little girl. I need to know she’ll be alright, and you’re the guy that can make sure she will.”

It was a low blow, Clint pulling that shit out now. Bucky’s hands still itched, but he pushed himself up off the floor and threw himself up onto the bench. It was better than looking at Barton watching him, miserable and hoping. “I’ll be fine to stay. _Eventually._ You might not see me for a few days.”

“Right.” Clint nodded in his periphery. “Kitchen is stocked with all your favourites, even that fish salad. Just leave a note if you need to head into town.”

“You goin’ somewhere?”

“There are repairs I’ve got to do around here. Figured you’d be mad at me, so I’d stay out of your way.”

Mad was rained out ball-games, and pissed wouldn’t have been anything worse than being shot a couple times. Tonight had sent him far past rage and fury, brushing the edge of madness before Bucky caught up to himself. It had burned – instantaneous and all consuming – coring him out, down to ashes. Bucky didn’t feel mad because he wasn’t sure he was feeling much of anything, except the cold from the concrete seeping through the thin fabric of his jeans. “Mad doesn’t touch this, Hawkeye.”

Clint shifted beside him. “Do you want me to give you some space?”

“I don’t even want to _look_ at you right now.” Bucky ran his left hand up over his face, the cool metal a soothing contrast to the burning behind his eyes.

“You want to stay here, or go back to the house?”

“There a bed in here?”

Clint patted the concrete bench he was perched on.

Bucky stood, heading for the tightly spiraled staircase in the corner. “House then.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TLDR:** Lila’s resemblance to Becca wasn’t just in Bucky’s head. Biologically, she’s his daughter, conceived without his knowledge as a joint Hydra and Red Room project. It’s unsurprising that she might resemble her aunt and Bucky’s twin sister.
> 
> Lila’s designation (in Bulgarian) is _DAUGHTER 08 [LILYANA]_.
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **Clint Barton Bingo:** But she needs me…
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint’s _sure_ Bucky will come back when he’s ready. Bucky’s not sure he’ll ever be _ready_ for _this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Coop as obnoxiously 11 years old as I could. I won’t lie, dear readers; I cherry picked some of his responses from actual students in my past life among the small-lings, and got input from a real live _middle school teacher_. (If you pray, pray for her, folks; she’s a long-suffering saint.)
> 
> Yes, I am also aware that certain comics have explored this sort of idea. I am completely ignoring them. (And will admit to continuing not to read them until I finish this fic.) I planted my creative feet as firmly as I could in the movie-verse, and then took off running; canon looks pretty, but I choose not to live there.
> 
> Thanks to the BDBD for support and spoons for all the teacups I keep spinning in the air.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Saturday and Sunday were both better and worse than Clint expected.

Better in no small part because he was alive to see them, to enjoy them with his sister-in-law and his kids. Clint hadn’t had time off – not at a long enough run anyway – to come back home since the start of summer, and only for a few days then.

Lila had been sending him photos of all the things she’d spent her last_ kiddie_ summer doing. It was Iowa – and there hadn’t been a long family vacation since Clint hadn’t been able to get the time off – so there had been a lot of photos of camping trips and tubing with her friends. Nonetheless, Clint had gotten misty-eyed over it; his little girl was a freshman in _high school_, and it was terrifying. Of course, after her little incident, she was also_ that girl who knocked a junior out_. Clint couldn’t say whether that made him worry more or less. But, that aside, she seemed happy, and she had a few friends. Clint didn’t have any experience with _real_ high school – except from tv and hearing other people talk about it – and was just glad Lila hadn’t run into any other social problems transitioning up from eighth grade.

Coop hadn’t had to move schools, but sixth grade meant he could start sports. Which also meant he was living up to the family legacy of reckless athleticism. He hadn’t gone out for football – _thank fuck_ – but Cooper was in track, and prone to the standard Barton bouts of clumsiness. Lau had been sending pictures since conditioning started over the summer. And, being eleven and absolutely disgusting, Coop had wanted to save the bandages from all of his _wounds._ He had been keeping a jar. Clint had seen worse injuries, but it was still the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen anyone purposely do with medical waste. Tossing his own dressings into a fast food bag because he’d been in too much pain to reach the bin didn’t count, in Clint’s opinion. Plus, that had only been for a week, not an entire season. Cooper had said it was only so he could show them off when Clint got to see his scars and scrapes, but Clint hadn’t believed that until he’d seen the jar safely into the trashcan. Not the one in the kitchen. The one outside. By the stable.

For the older kids, a gap of four months was missing a lot, sure, but it was an eternity when it came to Nate. It was a massive deal, losing that much time with a toddler; a lot could change. Nate had still been terrified of the toilet in June, and now he was making it all day with just a pull-up. Or, at least according the Laura, he _had_ been. Clint had seen him do it the day he got back, so proud of the little guy for getting it in just a few months. The fact that he wouldn’t be on diaper duty ever again hadn’t been too bad a thought either. Clint had been more than ready to do his part and keep up with Nate’s bathroom schedule.

Nate, however, had decided he didn’t _want_ Clint to take him, and that his mom would be an option of last resort. Nathaniel wanted_ Dime _to go with him, and Bucky wasn’t around. Not that that had stopped Nate from shouting because – surely – it was just an issue of being loud enough; he could certainly summon his new favourite person back with enough volume.

_Surely._

And that was the start of Clint’s shorter, but no less important, _worse_ things list. Clint had agreed – with all three of the children, but especially when Coop and Nate were babies – to be the number one nappy changer whenever he was home . He wasn’t around all that often; he’d wanted to give his sister a break. With Nate’s refusal to even try the potty since _Dime_ wasn’t there, it seemed like Clint was changing him constantly. This morning had been a nightmare he wasn’t keen to repeat, and being sleep-deprived hadn’t helped.

Clint had promised to give Bucky space, and he’d kept his word. He’d also been staying up most of the night for two days, just in case the other man came in after hours. Yes, it was in part to make sure that Barnes actually came in and took care of himself, maybe even ate, but Clint wasn’t all that great at lying about his motives, especially not in his own head. He might not have been screaming – certainly wasn’t shitting his pants over it – but he missed Bucky. He missed his _friend;_ and Clint wanted Bucky to come back, even if they might not be anything close to friends again when he did.

Clint cracked his neck, wiggling a little on the couch cushion.

Nate squirmed against him with a yawn. He had thrown a tantrum like nobody’s business at nap time, until Clint had basically given up trying to get him down. With Lau and the older kids heading out to the grocery store, Clint had gone for the path of least resistance. He had brought Nate – in his _fifth_ pull-up of the day – back down to join him on the sofa.

Usually, nap time for the kids meant nap time for the adults, but Clint couldn’t sleep with the toddler fussing grumpily beside him, so he settled for rotting his brain with kid’s shows. At least reruns of _The Wiggles_ sometimes featured musical guests he recognized… from watching _The Wiggles_. Clint had already gotten thirteen years of children’s television; what were a few more hours?

“Pop-Tint?” Hard _c_ sounds were still beyond Nate’s grasp; diphthongs weren’t even a possibility. He tugged at Clint’s t-shirt.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Dime?” Nate was trying.

Clint gave him a squeeze, kissing the top of his head. “He’ll be back.”

“Wort?” That had been one of Nate’s first words, according to Laura. _Work._ The little boy might not understand what it was, but all the kids had figured out early on that – when Clint was gone for weeks on end – he was at _work._ He was sure it wasn’t something they’d done purposefully, but he’d noticed that neither Lila nor Cooper used that word for much besides what Clint did. The kids and Lau did _chores, _were _on the job_, or had _stuff_ to do; it was only Clint that _went to work._

“Something like that, but not for long.” Clint smiled back at him, and Nate snuggled closer, yawning again. “Tired?”

“No nap.”

“Fine, we’ll stay up.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Bucky had watched the battered SUV pull off an hour ago, rolling jerkily to the end of the driveway and eventually disappearing up the road towards town. He’d debated staying where he was – up a tree, though blissfully alone this time – but he’d also been roaming the property since Thursday. Despite a lack of care, his hand had healed up alright, and he could go another few days without needing to go back to the house to wash up. Bucky _could_ do it, but if he didn’t have to… The Bartons were out, anyway, so he wasn’t going to run into anyone he didn’t want to see; nobody he couldn’t handle, unless the old one-eyed mutt he’d seen around was some sort of SHIELD trained attack dog.

He slunk his way to the porch, trying to keep himself from being too noticeable; something that was neither easy – surrounded by open farmland – nor necessary – since he was functionally in the middle of nowhere – but which was too much of a habit to try and throw off right now. Bucky went in through the kitchen, carefully slipping his muddy boots off, but carrying them with him as he tried to sneak back to the guestroom. It had an attached washroom, all he had to do was get up the hallway and-

“Dime?”

_Shit._ Bucky swivelled, looking into the living room, eyes landing on a sleepy looking toddler leaning into the side of an actually _sleeping_ Hawkeye. Nate was chewing on one sleeve, but his other hand was held out, waving. “Dime home? Done wiff wort?”

The smart thing would be to wake Clint and let him deal with the little boy beside him on the couch, but _that_ would mean talking to Clint. Bucky could run off to the shower and just ignore him, but – who the fuck was he kidding? – No, he couldn’t. Boots in hand, Bucky slipped into the living room, bending down in front of the toddler. “Hey, Nate.”

Despite how filthy he was, Nate reached for Bucky, chubby arms twining around his neck as he lifted the boy carefully. Nate yawned, and Bucky caught it, yawning back as he settled the toddler on his hip.

Nate’s smile was as sleepy as it was happy. “Dime naps?”

“I’ll take you to nap, but I gotta go.” Bucky shook his head as he tiptoed his way up the stairs. They creaked under his weight, but Clint’s snores kept going in the living room. He had to set his shoes down to open Nate’s bedroom door, then carefully set the little boy in his crib. “Now it’s nap time, Nate.”

Nate immediately laid down, looking muzzily up at Bucky, brown eyes already half-closed. “More wort? Wort for Dime?”

“Wash for – um – for Dime.” Bucky tugged Nate’s unicorn patterned blanket up over the toddler. “I got dirty outside, so I need a bath.”

Nate stared back at him, then yawned around a mouthful of soggy sleeve. “‘Tay. Nigh,’ Dime.”

“Goodnight, Nate.” Bucky closed the door behind him, chancing the stairs with boots in hands, and making it back to the first floor and Clint’s continued snoring. No wonder the kid had been awake when he’d come in.

Barton was still sawing away on the couch, and he looked like a warmed-over, post-mission shit. Which, Clint being Clint, mostly meant he was haggard; unshaven and a little ragged, with dark smudges under his eyes. He might be better dressed than when Bucky usually saw him like this – meaning he was_ actually_ dressed, pants and all – but Clint still managed to look like a mess that had been poured into decent jeans and a zip-up.By Bucky’s guess, he’d probably been awake two or three days, which likely made this nap the first time Hawkeye had slept since their last morning leaving a motel.

Bucky sighed, following the hallway back to the guestroom and locking the door behind him. He set his boots in the trashcan – no point washing them, since he’d be right back in the woods after this – and peeled his way out of the double plaid nightmare that had been just as unsuited for mission work as he thought. Knowing he both looked and _smelled_ on the outside as fucked up as he’d been feeling on the inside, Bucky stepped through to the adjoining bathroom for a much needed shower.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

He was reasonably presentable – beard trimmed and with a backup hair-tie in case this one snapped too, dressed aside from his boots and some sort of coat – when Bucky heard a scrabbling _thud_ from beyond the door. The lack of noise up to that point meant that the rest of the Bartons weren’t back, and Nate was probably still out cold, so it could only have been one person. He steeled himself, glowering back at his own face in the mirror, and opened the hallway door.

Clint, looking only tenuously conscious despite his half frantic movements, was peering into the laundry room. He snapped his head up as Bucky stepped into the hall. “Have you seen Nate?”

“I put him to bed.”

Clint’s jaw flapped a few times before he tilted his head further to the side. “You- You _what?”_

“You were sleepin,’ an’ he was cranky an’ tired, so I put him to bed.” Bucky turned around, walking back into his bedroom. “So maybe keep the volume down if you want him to stay there.”

Clint, uninvited and undeterred, trailed in behind him. “He let you?”

“He _asked_ for a nap.” Staring into the closet of clothes that had been picked out as part of his cover – clothes that were way too close to what Clint wore for his taste, but fuck it – Bucky grabbed a fleece jacket. It was olive drab, and too big, but at least it wasn’t plaid. “Was I not supposed to tuck him in? Did I fu-” Bucky needed to watch his cursing, since he was going to be staying. “Did I _mess_ up his schedule or somethin?’”

“No… No, he needed a nap.” Barton stepped back, leaving Bucky free to head back into the kitchen. Clint even went so far as to close the bedroom door behind him.

“So did you.” Bucky tipped his chin to the living room. “Go back to sleep.”

“Where are you going?” Clint was toeing the ground, eyes drifting down from Bucky’s face to focus on the floor.

“Out… I’ll be back before dinner.”

“It’s chicken and rice.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else, stepping out into the fall air. He was already a good fifty yards away – nearly to the goat paddock – when he finally heard Clint close the screen behind him.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

“Poppa Clint, Mister Jim’s back!” Cooper hadn’t even moved out of the doorway after opening it for him, turning back to yell over his shoulder before remembering that he needed to let Bucky in. “You were gone a long time.”

“I had a lot to do.”

“We were just about to start. Wash up and join us?” Laura was a testament to her semi-former profession; Bucky wouldn’t have noticed any strain in her voice if he hadn’t been trained to do so.

“Sure.” He unlaced his boots and set them in a line with the others, and washed his hands. Bucky nodded to Laura, noticing that his seat had been switched; it put him with her and Nate on one side, and Cooper on the other. Clint, meanwhile, sat between the two older children. “Thank you.”

“Where were you, Jim?” Cooper stared up at him – drawing out a grimace just by looking like the tiny excited Barton he was – and reminding Bucky that he should probably avoid looking at anyone but Laura if wanted to avoid making faces at the table.

Bucky focused on cutting his green beans, instead. “Just out.”

“Out where?”

“Back end of the property, scouting a spot for the job I’m helping your pop on.” It wasn’t technically a lie; Bucky was already lying to all the children, but being overtly dishonest to their faces was disconcerting. He’d snuck out after he and Clint had returned to the house, taking a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, water, and the whitefish salad that had – indeed – been waiting for him in the refrigerator. He had spent most of the past few days hiding up trees or in the little underground bunker. However, Bucky had also been scouting for locations for a place that he and Lila could practice; somewhere far enough from the house, and out of earshot of any neighbors. Not that he would be sharing any of that with the curious grade-schooler sat at his elbow. “Not much else.”

“Really?”

“Um… did some deer spotting?” Maybe if Bucky started eating, Coop would realize he couldn’t answer and stop talking–

“For the whole weekend?”

– or maybe Bucky would just have to mumble his response – _“Mmhmm.”_ – around a mouthful of rice.

“Coop! Let Jim eat.” Laura looked genuinely sympathetic as she glanced over. “It’s been two days since he had a hot meal.”

That seemed to work, and Bucky managed to get through half of his double portion of dinner without having to be too focused on the conversations around him. He listened to the family talk – about upcoming school plans for the week, about Laura’s next remote project, about planning ahead for the holidays, even if it just was November – but Bucky didn’t have to respond until Clint spoke to him directly. “Did you find a good site for it?”

“Depends.” Nodding, Bucky decided he might as well look at the man seated across from him at the overcrowded round table. It was just as difficult as he’d expected it would be. Bucky kept up the conversation, anyway. “How attached are you to the barn in the northwest corner?”

“Not very.” Clint shrugged and offered a hollow smile. “Technically, the property goes another mile past there, but it hits that little stand of trees, and it’s fallow on the other side.”

“Good. Doubt we’ll need to, but that building might come down before we finish.”

“Come down?!” Laura’s fork pinged on her brightly coloured dinner plate as she stared at him.

Hoping he wasn’t over-stepping – but needing her to be calm because, for the moment, he was still too on edge to think about anyone else’s panic – Bucky lightly patted the back of Laura’s arm. “I promise it would be a controlled demolition, just me and Clint if it needed to happen.” Bucky tried his best to keep his grin pleasant, and not go too far towards his usual sharp smirk. “You and the kids would be well away if anything went down. I wouldn’t let _any_ of them get hurt.” Bucky knew he wasn’t just talking about the barn any more.

Laura’s slow inhale meant she knew it as well. “I know, it’s just going to be a lot of work. For _both_ of you.”

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it.” Bucky shifted his eyes to the other Agent Barton at the table, fighting to maintain that smile, if only for the kids’ sakes. “Right, _Clint?”_

Barton swallowed his mouthful of chicken and nodded. “Right.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **Clint Barton Bingo:** Expectation
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Bucky start preparations for managing Lila’s _issues,_ but still have so many of their own to sort out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look; a chapter that ballooned to twice its size, and then had to be split. Imagine _me_ writing something like that. (The sardonic cloud is so thick you can _taste_ it.) Chapter 6 will be the second half of this chapter; thanks for understanding the somewhat truncated ending.
> 
> As with Chapter 3, **please heed the warnings.** Bucky gets into his head, again, in this chapter, and there is more discussion of issues of non-consent, and diminished/absent sexual and reproductive autonomy.

Bucky had drawn up a list of things he needed for their _project_ after dinner on Sunday. Most of it – plywood, roof sheeting, sound proofing foam – Clint could pick up in sufficient quantities from a home repair store. Some – like the heavy bags, wrapping tape, and certain safety equipment – he could get if he stopped at a few places; buying fifteen punching bags was going to raise some eyebrows, regardless of the reason. And there were a few things that – to be honest – Clint was going to have to source via non-SHIELD connections, or order specially made. Body armour didn’t exactly come in youth sizes.

_Oh, well._ Frank owed him a favour, though shipping from New Jersey would take close to a week, and that was assuming he’d do it.

It had taken two trips – _lasting two days each_ – of driving all over hell and back to get the rest of what Bucky had asked for. Still, with this last load, they could at least get started. The truck bounced as it rolled to a stop in the well compacted rut outside the barn, and Clint killed the engine.

Bucky was already waiting in the doorway, arms crossed and head tipped back, cigarette resting between his lips.

Clint should have greeted him, since they hadn’t spoken more than a few times in passing at meals, even after Sunday dinner. The first words out of his mouth, however, were a curious, “You smoke?”

That earned him a snort and a grin for some reason. “Always have. Steve was allergic. Even without the sneezin,’ he’s still a pain in my ass about it.” Barnes ground the cherry of the cigarette against the wooden frame of the doorway and tucked it behind his ear. “Don’t worry; I’ll keep it a secret. Won’t let anyone else catch me doing it.”

“Does it help?” Clint had tried as a kid, but he’d dropped it early on. The only people he had known that smoked long-term usually kept it up to calm down. Half of his first STRIKE team had smoked. It didn’t bother Clint too badly, but it seemed odd to see Bucky do it.

“No; just an old soldier’s habit.” Bucky gave Clint a wide berth as he stepped to the back of the truck.

The bed was loaded with the last of the heavy bags, a few speed bags, and as many sacks of concrete as Clint could safely haul. His truck was older than he was, and more than half as busted. Clint opened the tailgate, hefting a bag with a shrug. “If this isn’t enough, I can get more.”

“It’s plenty to start.” Bucky bent, carefully balancing two of the bags on his left shoulder, then reaching to grab a third.

Before he’d gotten here, Clint would have called him a show-off. Now, he wasn’t sure how to react. “Well, some of it won’t be in for a few days. Maybe a week for the more _specialty_ items.”

“That’s fine.”

They unloaded the rest of the truck in silence, hauling everything into the barn and sorting it into what had once been livestock stalls. The punching bags they tossed into a stack on a cleared space of paved floor. It was there that Clint threw himself when they were finished.

Laying out over the too firm bags was arguably less comfortable than flopping onto the barn floor, but he didn’t care. If Clint was mildly surprised when Bucky sat down beside him and started smoking, again – plucking the cigarette form behind his ear and relighting it with a _match_ – he was more than shocked when Barnes held it out in offer.

Clint held up his hand, head shaking. “Not since middle school.”

“Yeah?”

“I was probably Coop’s age. Maybe a little older? Barney kept it up.”

“Mmm.” With a thoughtful nod, Bucky turned to face him, one leg drawn in. “Filthy habit?”

“Mostly that I kept my baby fat too long, and my fake IDs were fucking garbage.” Any store he went into as a kid, cigarettes were_ always_ behind the counter, sometimes even behind locked doors or cage screens. Clint had quick fingers, and the chill cases were usually near the emergency exits, anyway.“Wino liquor was easier to lift.”

“You tellin’ me you used to get shit-faced on a five-finger discount?”

“Five-finger shopping sprees.” Clint had earned an honest enough living at the circus, but that had been room and board, not a paycheque. Whatever pocket money he’d had before SHIELD generally came out of other people’s pockets first. That was assuming he even bothered paying for his stuff at all. “I think Phil signs off on all the weird shit on my expense reports because he knows I’m going to get what I need, one way or another.”

Bucky twitched and turned away, any sign of returned good humour draining from his face all at once. “I noticed.”

“Bucky…” Best to just come right out and say it. “I _am_ sorry. I should have told you, at least before I dragged you out here.”

“Yeah, I know you are.” Bucky spun the shrinking cigarette between his fingers, like Clint often saw him do with his knives. “You did what you thought you _had_ to do. And I’m still pissed as fuck about it, Clint.”

He took a long drag, blew it out, and shook his head. “But I’m mostly not pissed at _you.”_

“Mostly not?”

“You _should_ have told me sooner.” Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line as he sighed. “At the very least, you should have given me more fucking time to deal with all this shit before you dragged my ass out here.” He lapsed into silence, turning to gaze out the still open door.

Clint watched Bucky, staring at his profile, sharp against the low light of dusk. It couldn’t have been more than a minute or so. The tableau of Barnes silhouetted on the autumn sky seemed interminable. Clint considered interrupting the quiet, but, by then, Bucky was already moving.

With the ash nearly to his fingers, he crushed the cigarette out against his metal palm. Barnes unrolled the paper wrapper – field stripping his cigarette, even though it was non-filtered – letting the fine dried tobacco flakes drift onto the barn floor. He folded the last remaining bit of paper into a tiny square and tucked it into his pocket. Wiping his right hand on the leg of his pants, Bucky turned to look back down at Clint, face sombre. “Regardless; I’m here, and we have a problem that needs solving. For now, I’ll make it work.”

“Thank you…”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

“Thank you…” Clint sat up beside him. “What’s the plan?”

Bucky didn’t want Clint’s thanks, but it didn’t matter. He’d had most of the week to work out how he was going to do this. Bucky had spent just enough time in the house to be noticed while keeping up his little nest in the bunker, staying well away from Laura and the kids while he’d planned.

Facing this as a mission with an objective _had_ helped. Success – and _escape_ from the farm – effectively came down to teaching Lila how_ not_ to be the Winter Soldier. That had taken Bucky a long while to learn – he still felt like he was working at it, especially when surrounded by breakables or civilians – but the teenager wouldn’t have to_ unlearn_ reactions like the ones he’d had drilled into his head. She had a clean slate with a clean ledger; Bucky’s job was to make sure she could keep herself in check and stay that way.“First thing is telling Lila what we’re doing, then getting her out here.”

“Now?”

“As soon as possible, if you want her to even out faster.”

Clint tilted his head to the side in a passable impression of a scruffy, dumb dog.

“Her hot flashes.” That triggered a few more degrees of tilt, Clint’s mouth just beginning to open in question as Bucky interrupted him. “Me and Stevie, and now her, we’re burning through way more energy than most folks are meant to handle, right?”

“Right.” Barton looked no less confused.

“So it’s just thermodynamics. Energy and heat are the same thing.” Bucky’s being a science geek ran up against his desire to speak as little as possible, and he sighed. “Fastest way to deal with the hot flashes is to get Lila to use somma that energy up. She can do that helping us get this place ready. Plus, it’ll let me see what she can do _before_ she starts swinging.”

“Won’t it make her hotter?”

“It’ll get her body to figure out that it can hold onto some of that power, that she doesn’t have to burn it off at random.” Bucky wasn’t sure if it was as bad for the teenager, but it had been a nightmare when he came back to himself. When he’d been under Hydra’s _care_, he’d been using up all his energy staying alive. Healing had burned through most of his excess and been the only non-mission time he’d spent out of the ice. Staying intact through the freezing had slowed his metabolism but strained his organs every time; just keeping them from shutting down had sapped the rest of his surplus.

Bucky hadn’t dealt with the hot spells and the twitching until he wasn’t getting freezer burned on the regular. It had taken a fuck-load of adjusting, and Stevie hadn’t been a damn bit of help. Bucky had spent a year or so figuring out what worked all on his own, once he realized the insomnia couldn’t be a permanent solution. “I’m the expert, remember? Whydya think I like to keep busy?”

Bucky could almost hear the gears grind between Clint’s ears as the man beside him leaned farther forward. “Is that why you got so squirrely once Steve cut you from the rotation?”

“Partly.” That, and Bucky having had enough years of people or programming telling him what he could and couldn’t do. He would freely admit he was an ornery asshole, but Bucky _did_ like his work, and there wasn’t much else in his life besides that and Alpine. The job kept him stable – in multiple senses – and usually out of the way. “They’re more interesting than just burning hours at the gym.”

“But shouldn’t Steve _know_ that happens? The excess energy thing?”

“It doesn’t; not to him. Steve’s the original, remember? His body’s better at regulatin’ itself.” That cut to the heart of why Bucky was staying. He might be internally raging at the Red Room, at Hydra, at G-d and Clint Barton – he might have no idea how the fuck he was going to deal with the girl once he actually had to work with her – but he was the only person on the planet who knew even half of what Lila Barton might be going through. Neither of them had chosen to be like they were, and even the man with the best shot of knowing had been the one success in a long cluster-fuck of failures stretching back and forth across seventy-damned-years.“Re-read her file, and Lila’s listed as a _failure_. That makes her a faulty copy of a half-assed knockoff.”

Clint glowered at him.

It was decidedly _not_ the best way to describe the guy’s daughter, but staying a detached jackass was the only way Bucky could see for handling this through the duration. He’d be treating it like any other shit assignment; he’d do his job, do it well, and get the fuck out of here. That didn’t mean being nice, only thorough. Bucky would make sure the girl wouldn’t pose a danger to herself or anyone else. That was the objective, and Clint would just have to fucking deal with it. Like dealing with Lila only being alive because she was a mistake. “She’d be dead if she was any different.”

“Yeah.” Clint’s fists clenched in his lap. “Yeah, she would.”

Bucky stood, walking out of the barn and around to the passenger side of the truck. He got in and cranked down the window. He’d started and finished another Lucky – its rolled paper already folded and away – before Clint opened the door on the opposite side of the cab. He turned the engine over, then flipped on the high-beams. It was full dark by the time they got back to the farmhouse. Bucky had rebuilt his civilian smile just in time to walk through the screen door.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Dinner had been an exercise in circumspection for the past few evenings. Talking with Laura had gotten easier, and – since he never seemed to close his mouth, even when _chewing_ – Coop always offered Bucky another option for conversation. He was still avoiding talking to Lila, but she seemed to be avoiding talking to anyone at all. He and Clint had been… _cordial._ To his mind, they hadn’t been overly suspicious, either, though the small talk had been unnerving.

After dinner, he’d excused himself, saying he’d be out doing more surveying, brushing off Coop’s perplexed queries – _“Again? After dark?”_ – and retreating to the bunker that was swiftly becoming his second home. Usually, he would slip out after the kids had gone to bed, sneaking back in before breakfast to keep up the charade of staying in the house. Tonight, though, he’d left as soon as the dishes were cleared. Bucky hadn’t expected to keep hiding out in the bunker, but he still felt better out here than back at the farmhouse. It was the one place Bucky was able to take down the mask of pleasantries and comfort he had to wear around Clint’s family; able to prepare himself for what was coming at the end of the week.

It felt like Bucky had read through Lila’s file a hundred times over at this point. He’d asked Clint for the files on the other… _children_, as well. Last evening, eleven folders had been waiting atop the filing cabinet down in his little nest. Bucky had been up most of the night previous reading through them.

Eleven children, all dead; six more girls and five boys. They would have sent the girls to the Red Room and the boys to Hydra, had they lived. Children with half the ability, perhaps, but none of the humanity that made maintaining the Winter Soldier so intensive. It would have been a small price to pay, had it worked. The files hadn’t said how the children had been conceived, and Bucky hoped – prayed, screamed in silence – that he was unconscious when it happened. That it had been done as clinically as possible. He hoped the soldier hadn’t been awake for it, as much for the female _volunteers_ as for himself.

Still, it wasn’t as if there was any way Bucky could apologize or repent for it. The women and children in the files just added to the red in his ledger; twenty-three more souls on his conscience. The only way Bucky could even come close to making amends was in doing right by Lila. There was no other option. Laura and Cooper were leaving tomorrow night. Bucky would start practice with Lila on Saturday.

He rolled over on the cot, shimmying further down into his purloined sleeping bag. He wanted to get tucked in as far as he could because – for the first time in a long while – Bucky felt cold.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **Clint Barton Bingo:** Secrets
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint can’t keep walking on eggshells around Bucky if they’re going to make this plan work, and that’s still a big _if._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note on heights. Although I pulled primarily from the MCU-verse for setting up this story, Clint and Bucky’s heights are taken from the comic canon, putting them at 6’3” and 5’11”, respectively. Given that Bucky was shorter pre-serum (5’8”-5’9” in my head), and that she probably isn’t going to surpass him in height, I picture Lila at about 5’3½”.
> 
> (For anyone thinking that is too perfect of a height distribution, I offer a subtle raspberry whilst I point to myself and my parents.)
> 
> This is pretty much Chapter 5 Part 2, just as Chapter 7 will be the eventual Chapter 5 Part 3. This fic will be going on hiatus for at least a few weeks, likely until after the new year. Thanks for your patience.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Clint slid past the rooms where Nate and Lila still slept, tiptoeing down the stairs to the kitchen and flipping on the coffee maker. Bucky had agreed with him that they should fill Lila in at breakfast. Cooper had a track meet a hundred miles away; he and Laura would be out well into the evening, which would give Clint and Bucky time to talk Lila through what they’d be doing. Nate wouldn’t be too much of an issue, as long as Dime was willing to break every once in a while for a potty run. Still, it had snuck up on Clint. This was real – this was _happening_ – and Lila would really be working with Bucky. Clint had promised he’d find her answers, but she probably wasn’t expecting them to be quite so…_ Bucky-_shaped. _Jim_-shaped. Or nearly so awkward as Clint worried it might end up.

Jim- Bucky-_ Whatever! _– had been pleasant and bearable around Clint’s family while managing to manoeuvre their conversations so that he spoke to Clint as rarely as possible. He’d left Clint no openings, no chances to patch things up; not even to try to paper over them a little better, make the massive cracks in their working relationship a bit less obvious. They needed to be on speaking terms at breakfast for this to work, but Barnes’ conversational kill count kept climbing.

Clint needed a way in. With Bucky having once more snuck back into the house, the easiest way was through the half open guestroom door. “What do I need to do?”

Bucky had his gun out on the bed, disassembled on a chamois. It wasn’t exactly something Clint liked to think of happening inside the house – with or without Lau as backup – but he knew the comforting routine of checking gear. And – to hell with it – at least Bucky answered him, even if it was only a single word. “Pardon?”

“What do I need to do to get you to stop giving me the cold shoulder?” Probably not the best phrase, given who he was talking to.

“What makes you think you can _do_ anything?”

“Well, I’m an idiot, so there is that.” He’d usually be self-deprecating for a laugh, but Clint meant it this time; he _was_ an idiot to think this would go well or that somehow already being friends would make the situation better, instead of worse. Clint knew what he’d risked ruining between them from the word go. He had only thought that – maybe – it would be a lot less terrible, or a little easier to handle, for Li’s sake, if not his own. “Look, I know we’re not gonna just go back to headlocks and shoving each other off the roof – I _get_ that – but I also know Lila. She’s going to notice me walking on eggshells around you-”

“So don’t.” Bucky looked up, hands a blur as he re-assembled his firearm.

Clint rolled his eyes. _Brilliant advice._ He pushed himself off from the doorway and eased the door closed with his foot. Clint perched on the edge of the room’s low dresser, hands flat on the top. “Yeah, except I kinda can’t not do that when you’re trying to glare me to death all the fucking time.”

“She’s fourteen. You really think she’ll notice?” Leaning forwards, Barnes slid the Ruger into place at the small of his back. “Or care?”

“Of course, she will, Bucky.” Lila was smart, nosey, and a teenager. If there was anything approaching _drama _going on – whoever it might involve – she would ferret it out and pounce on it. They wouldn’t be able to get any work done with Li needling them as much as she thought she could get away with. “I may be gone a lot, but I know my kid.”

“Exactly.” Barnes pushed up off the bed, tucking the hair that kept drifting into his face without a tie behind his ear. Pacing toward the bathroom door, he paused, and Clint could hear the slight _thunk_ as Bucky leaned his shoulder into the door.

That wasn’t any sort of answer – even by Barnes’ often lax standards – but Clint stayed quiet for a time, hoping the shorter man would continue, or at least elaborate on that single word. When Bucky didn’t, Clint hazarded a question. “And that’s why you’re giving me the death stare twenty-five eight?”

“You’re her _dad_, Clint, but…” Bucky turned around, head hung, face hidden by his hair. His shoulders hitched in a defeated shrug. “I’m not anybody’s _parent-”_

_Oh._ It had been four days, but neither had touched the topic through any of their planning or prep work. “Bucky, I know I should have told you-”

“- and I didn’t _want_ to be, and I’m not…” Barnes’s head snapped up as he spoke over Clint’s interruption. He stopped halfway across the room, teeth pressing into his lip, fists clenched at his side. “I shouldn’t even be around _kids_, Barton._ Not ever_.I’m fucked up-”

“All of us are, Bucky.” If being _normal_ was required for being a parent, Clint would have been screwed.

“I was out of my goddamned mind for seventy years, Barton. And I still wake up some days and _miss it!” _ Bucky dropped his gaze, backing away until he was stopped by the bedpost. He slid to seated on the floor. “It was simple…”

As Clint watched, Bucky drew his knees in, crossing his arms atop them and tucking his head. He ended up curled in the same protective hunch Clint had last seen down in the bunker. _At least he’s not bleeding._

Which – no – Bucky wasn’t _physically_ hurt, but he _looked_ like he was in pain, trembling where he leaned against the bed. He certainly _sounded_ so, strained voice just above a whisper now. “But, even before, I was _careful_. Yeah, there were some gals, but I didn’t…”

Clint almost missed Barnes’ thready whimper, the just voiced words. “I didn’t ever _want…_ and-”

_Fuck._ He hadn’t even considered that. Clint hadn’t been ready to be a parent – had been terrified once he realized he was now _Pop_ to his brother’s kids – but kids and a family had been an eventual goal. He’d expected something less convoluted, but…

“And now I’ve got a kid – _your kid_ – and I can barely even look at her, Clint, because she’s just one more fucking reminder of what they _took_ from _me-!”_ Bucky was still talking, voice wavering as he trembled, wedged between the wall and the edge of the headboard. “But it’s… it’s _my_ fucking fault she’s even _alive_, and-”

Clint sat next to Bucky, looping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close before he could question it. “None of this is your fault, Bucky. Not a god-damned bit of it.”

“Nobody would have… none of this would have happened if Hydra hadn’t considered me an _asset.”_ Bucky surprised him by not pulling away, only curling further in on himself. “If I had been less _efficient-_”

“Then you’d be dead, and Lila wouldn’t exist.” _God damnit_. Clint had come in wanting to _fix_ things; to heal whatever wounds were keeping them from working together, not to give Bucky _more._ He squeezed the shorter man closer and felt the metal plating shift beneath his fingers as Bucky sniffed. “If anybody’s at fault, it’s the people that did this, Bucky, not you. Blame them. Hell, blame me; I’m the fucker that dragged you out here-”

“You were tryna help your kid, Clint…” Bucky nodded, swallowing loudly, turning wet grey eyes up to look at him. “You’re a jackass, but you ain’t _cruel,_ not on purpose.”

“Bucky-”

“Most guys woulda prob’ly wanted a kid, I guess…” Barnes cut him off, turning away to stare at the wall. “… but I’ve fucked up everyone _else_ I’ve met in my life… Now I gotta worry I’ll screw up Lila, too?”

“You _won’t!”_ It had come out more harshly than Clint intended, but that at least snapped Bucky’s attention off the wall and back on to him. Clint bit against the inside of his jaw, working to keep himself from looking away as the other man blinked up at him. “Bucky, anything you can do is only going to _help,_ I know it is… And you’re not gonna fuck up.”

“I could hurt her, though.” Bucky’s metal fingers creaked as he unclenched his fist, reaching up to push his hair back, cutting his eyes away, again. “Even if it’s by accident, she’s so… so little.”

“You could, but you won’t.” Bucky was closer in height to Lila than Clint, barely taller than Lau; from Clint’s perspective, Bucky and his daughter were _both_ small. Which didn’t mean Bucky wasn’t incredibly dangerous, but, “We spar without you hurting me most times, and I’m not enhanced.

“You’re well trained, and – _still_ – not hurting you? It takes effort, Clint.”

Clint drew his arm back, mirroring Bucky’s pose, hands resting over his knees. He smiled wanly. “Yeah, I know. Especially when I’ve pissed you off.”

“Can’t think of a time you’ve ever done _that.”_ Bucky rolled his eyes with a huff.

For a bare moment, it almost felt like they were back to normal; back to a month ago, when Bucky was still allowed out in the field and this place was just one more secret. Clint bit back a sigh. “I trust you, Bucky; you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be _careful._ Kid gloves.”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

“Thank you, Bucky.” Clint’s hand settled back on his shoulder and – to his surprise – Bucky didn’t want to throw it off this time, either.

Instead he was almost glad it was back. Still, Bucky shrugged, feeling sheepish, embarrassed after his little breakdown a few moments ago. “You don’t gotta keep at that. Thankin’ me an’ shit. I ain’t done anythin,’ yet.”

“You stayed.” How the hell had anyone with a face as emotive as Clint’s ever managed it in counter-intelligence? The raw gratitude was almost enough to make Bucky flinch. “That’s more than plenty.”

Bucky turned away, hiding behind a derisive snort. “Not by half if you don’t want Lila knockin’ out every guy that tries to cop a feel.”

“Who says I don’t?” The smirk on Barton’s face was one usually reserved for the field. “He deserved it.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Bucky had always known Clint had a dangerously wide protective streak. It was part of what had made it so easy to open up to him, back when he’d first realized Stevie had been serious about him joining the team.

Hawkeye had accepted him quickly enough, but then he’d hung around. Clint had started stepping in when Bucky least expected; to diffuse things, to have Bucky’s back when things go heated – _violent_ – with the other Avengers as he settled in. At first, he’d thought it might have been a ploy to gain his trust, but… Well, a run-in with Stark had killed that notion; nobody was going to risk a shot straight from an arc-reactor just to get in Bucky’s good graces.

Clint Barton was a decent guy at heart. That made it an effort to stay mad at him. Bucky was still trying, though. Being mad was easier than feeling _hurt._

Even as Clint nudged at his shoulder, blue eyes soft with concern. “Look, we don’t have to do this today.”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

“I know… But we might as well get it over with, right?” Beside him, Bucky pushed up off the floor. “Guess I just wasn’t thinking that I’d be _scared_ about it.”

Those words proved beyond any doubt that Bucky had his heart in the right place for this. “That’s normal; kids are terrifying.” As if summoned by his words, Clint heard a soft tread on the floor above; Lila must have woken up, and she’d probably be bringing Nate down with her. Clint stood, brushing his hands over his pants, then reaching out a hand to Bucky. “Come on. The waffle iron’s hot, and there’s coffee.”

“Yeah. Alright.” He waved the hand away but followed Clint into the kitchen.

They had both settled in with coffee – Bucky at the table and Clint whisking batter – when Lila walked in. Nate, who had been clinging to her hand, let go immediately to toddle up to Bucky. “Dime, I go potty?”

“Sure, Nate.” By the face he made as he lifted Nate up, Clint’s youngest had not made it through the night without incident.

“I can change him.”

“It’s alright, Clint.” Bucky shook his head, carrying the toddler back out of the kitchen, taking a wider than necessary path around Lila to do so. The stairs creaked as he took Nate up to the second floor.

A moment later, Clint felt a familiar form lean against his side. “Good morning, Doodle-bug.”

“Waffles?” At his nod, Lila’s arms slid around his waist, and she squeezed him in a hug. “Awesome.”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

Bucky honestly had no idea what he was doing – he’d never changed a diaper in his life – but a few more minutes to settle were worth dealing with a little shit. Nate was inordinately proud of his flushing ability, and even remembered to wash his hands. If Bucky let the kid draw it out for a good ten minutes – until the sink nearly overflowed with bubbles – well, that wasn’t the worst thing, now was it? Eventually, though, Nate tired of splashing, and they had to dry their hands and go back to the kitchen.

Even, then, he got one last reprieve. Clint and Lila had already finished making the waffles and setting the table by the time Nate finally accepted sitting in his high chair instead of Bucky’s lap. Without Laura or Cooper, though, Lila was sitting right next to him; Clint just across. Bucky tucked in to his food, trying to keep his mouth too full to talk.

“Can you pass the butter, Mr. Bruckner?”

He nodded, handing over the butter dish without speaking. Under the table, Bucky felt Clint kick at the end of his foot. _Fuck…_

“Lila,” Clint reached to grasp her hand, and Bucky felt himself tense, “do you remember how I promised I’d find someone to help with your, um… _issues?”_

“Uh-hu.” Between them, the teenager nodded. Bucky held his breath as Clint stared at him. It was only after a few awkward moments of silence that Lila connected the dots. Her left hand clenched reflexively – bending her fork in half and nearly jamming it into the table – and she whipped her head around, startled grey eyes meeting Bucky’s own. _“Him?!”_

“Lila-!” Bucky winced, as much from Clint’s tone as Lila’s response. Who would have guessed Clint Barton had a worse _disappointed dad_ voice than Stevie.

“No, I didn’t mean-!” Still gawping mostly at him, Lila waved her hands as if trying to literally clear the air. “It’s just… I mean… Mr. Bruckner… You’re kinda small.”

Bucky laughed before he could catch himself, turning in his chair to fully face the girl sitting on his right. “So’re you.”

“Yeah, but I hit _hard_ – ask Pops –” For his part, Clint nodded, but didn’t say anything as Lila kept speaking. “–and I don’t want to _hurt_ you.”

Bucky hadn’t watched _The Twilight Zone_ until recently – Sam and Tony had insisted on forcing him through the all day marathon last New Year’s – but he almost felt like he ought to be hearing Rod Serling’s voice over right about now. Hadn’t he just had nearly this _same_ conversation with Clint earlier? “You won’t, kid.”

“But Mr. Br-“

“Look, I’m kind of an… _expert_ on your condition,” Bucky picked up the bent fork from beside Lila’s plate. Carefully, he straightened it out – handle, then tines – and handed it back to her. “And we’re going to be at this a while, so you can drop the formality, alright? Makes me feel even older’n I am.”

“O-okay.” Lila kept staring at her freshly unbent fork as silence settled over the table.

That had gone better than it might have. Bucky chanced a look across the table. Clint shrugged with an embarrassed smile, so Bucky went back to his breakfast. He was finishing off the last quarter of his third waffle – vainly trying and failing to avoid Nate’s syrup-sticky hand as the toddler pulled at his hair – when Lila spoke up again.

“So… um, Jim?”

“Mm?”

Lila fidgeted, scooting a piece of soggy waffle around her plate as she asked. “You’re… you’re really going to help fix me?”

“I…” Bucky awkwardly reached to pat her shoulder. “No, Lila, I’m not.”

Valiantly trying to ignore the fact that she was _his_, Lila was still just a kid, and kids needed reassurance. Although, in this instance, there hadn’t been any way to answer her honestly without dashing that little bit of hope he had heard in her voice. “There’s not really any fixin’ this, Lila.”

_ __ _

She deflated with a heavy sigh, slumping back into her chair, leaving him at a loss.

_ __ _

Aside from Stevie and his crushing optimism, Bucky hadn’t had anyone ever talk to him about the effects of the serum; and he couldn’t very well talk like _that_ to Lila. He didn’t have it in him to try and put a neat bow on things like that, and telling her it would all be fine would have made him a liar. “I can’t _fix_ you, ‘cause you’re not broken. But I can teach you to handle all the uh… the extra stuff. Maybe help keep you from ruining your ma’s silverware.”

_ __ _

Bucky should have looked away sooner, but now it was too late. Lila lifted her head, offering a pleased – if nervous – smile. “That… that would be good, I guess.”

_ __ _

“Uh…” It wasn’t like that first evening; he didn’t see Becca this time. They had been twins, but hardly identical. His sister’s face had been rounder; her cheeks hiding her eyes if she so much as grinned, her nose tipping up on the end like their mother’s. Lila had neither a pug nose nor pudgy cheeks, and her face was thin, her jaw a bit too square. Now that he knew it – now that he could _admit_ it – Bucky couldn’t help seeing himself in her face. _His_ jaw, _his_ nose.

_ __ _

“I’ll meet you guys out at the barn.” Bucky snatched up his plate and pushed back from the table. He scraped the last bit of uneaten waffle into the bin, toeing on his boots and grabbing his coat from where he’d left them on the bench by the door.

_ __ _

“Jim?” Clint’s voice was deceptively calm behind him.

_ __ _

“Just gonna do some maintenance.” Bucky tapped his flesh hand against the inside of the metal arm, turning just enough to see Clint – _just Clint_ – over his shoulder. “It’ll take a few minutes, that’s all. I’ll see you out there.”

_ __ _

Bucky closed the door behind him, methodically keeping his pace at a brisk walk, fighting the urge to bolt for the treeline.

_ __ _

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

_ __ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **WinterHawk Bingo: **Hair Pulling
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of practice is off to a bang-up start, and that’s _before_ Bucky starts breaking things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> Just another reminder: Nate is not even three yet, and he still hasn’t mastered diphthongs. Combined with sometimes slipping out of English, he doesn’t always sound… _normal._ A translation for Nate’s words is available at the end of the chapter.
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

That had gone to hell quickly. At least Bucky had _only_ left_._ Clint knew he had to have been seconds from panicking, but he’d hidden it well enough. He certainly couldn’t hold Bucky’s nerves against him. Clint cut up a few more chunks of waffle for his youngest, then looked at Lila, still poking dazedly at her breakfast. “So…?”

“Mom said he was visiting to help with a project.” Lila rested her cheek on the back of her hand. She poked a final time at her last bit of waffle, then dropped her fork onto the plate with a clatter. Lila pressed her hands onto the table, nearly glaring up at him as she asked, “So I’m a _project_ now?”

“Lila…” Clint could practically _hear_ her rolling her eyes as he looked down into his near-empty coffee mug. He couldn’t blame her for being angry with him – at this point, pretty much everyone in the house _was_ – but the tone of her voice brought home just how hard Lila had taken that comment. _Shit._ “Your mom and I needed some way to work this out over the phone, Doodle-bug.”

He pushed his mug to the side, reaching for her hand.

Lila pulled her hand away with a huff. “Does Jim _really_ work with you and Auntie Nat?”

“Yes.” Clint knew that would start the gears turning behind her petulant grey eyes. Lila knew what he did for a living, even if Lau and the kids spoke about it euphemistically. For their own safety, Clint had wanted them to know at least some of what he was doing, even if he spared them most of the details. It was better than leaving them to their imaginations. He and Barney had tried that early on; explaining to Lila that – no – they were not (still) working for the circus had put an end to that.

Lila knew full well that what he and ‘Tasha did was dangerous, that they were _technically_ members of the Avengers. Clint had tried to downplay his involvement, but it was a little more difficult once his kids had seen him on the television, hurtling across the New York skyline. The _first_ time. “He’s worked with us, and with Phil a few times.”

“Is Jim his real name, or-?”

“It’s a nickname of _James_, Lila, but nobody calls him that.” Talking over her kept Clint from having to lie outright to his daughter. _Again._ What he’d said was true enough; nobody called Bucky _James_, aside from Natasha when she was in a mood. “Like how nobody calls me _Clinton.”_

“Except Auntie Nat when she’s mad at you.” Lila pushed back from the table, skirting around Nate’s continued syrup flinging as she went to scrape her waffle leavings into the bin.

“Yeah.”

“I know he’s your friend, Pops, but he spent last weekend sleeping in the woods.” His daughter turned, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets, elbows resting on the countertop. Lila toed her socked foot against the tile floor, before finally looking back up at him, clearly nervous. “He seems kinda… weird.”

“Jim is a little…” _Shell-shocked._ “… _quirky,_ but I promise he’ll be able to help you.”

“Isn’t there some way to just-” Lila crossed her arms, giving herself a tight squeeze, hunching down in on herself. His daughter took a slow breath, arms falling as she shuffled back to her seat, dropping herself into the chair. Lila’s eyes stayed on the spot where her plate had been. “- to just make me _normal_, again?”

“Lila, you’ve been special your whole life, sweetie…” Clint walked his chair closer, until he could wrap his arm around her shoulders. This time, she didn’t pull away. _Progress._

Instead, Lila leaned in against his side. “Did Mom and Dad know I was a _freak_ when they adopted me?”

“You’re not a freak, Lila.”

Lila picked up the spoon still left at her place at the table. She shoved it into her mouth and bit down. The metal ground before she pulled it out and set it back on the table, now with the bowl nearly flattened save for a row of tooth impressions across the middle. _“Freak.”_

Clint needed a moment to craft a response, but Nate’s excited exclamation – “Wai-uh!? A-den? Ma’ poon?” – gave him an idea; one that might even get Lila out of her funk. “Spoon eating is kind of avant garde, but you could make a go of it. Do you want me to go get one of the chickens?” He pulled back to look down at her with a soft smile. “I’m up for another run in the circus, if it stops you destroying your mom’s spoons.”

She might not have wanted to – not by the look on her face – but Lila snorted out a laugh. “Would I have to wear spandex?”

_“Sparkly spandex._ It’s a requirement.” Clint tapped a finger lightly against the end of her nose. “You’d need a silly name, too.”

That seemed to do it. Lila relaxed against him, giggles soothing at least some of his Clint’s concerns. Trying to navigate the minefield of interactions between himself and Bucky was bad enough; he couldn’t handle that sort of thing on two fronts, and Clint didn’t _want_ to. He might not have been able to protect Bucky from the worst of this, but Lila was a different matter.

His daughter hugged him around the waist, head tipped back as she spoke. “He’s _not_ Captain America.”

Clint couldn’t very well say that – for a few weeks last year when Steve had been AWOL – he _had_ been. Because _Bucky Barnes_ wasn’t even alive, according to the general public, and _Jim Bruckner_ wasn’t also a century-old super soldier. “You overheard that?”

_“Projects_ hear lots of things.” There was a sharp edge to her joking tone.

“Well, no, he’s not, but…” Clint shrugged. Unlike Steve, Bucky might not have been his first pick, “… but he’s probably better, to be honest.”

“Better than Steve Rogers?”

Clint could think of several ways to respond to Lila’s befuddled query, not all of them related to Bucky’s being a better choice as someone to assist _her_. Of course, those sorts of reasons were things he shouldn’t have been thinking about _before_ he’d dragged Barnes out here and upended the man’s life, let alone after. “Steve is annoying, and his jokes are lame.”

_“His_ jokes?”

“Lamer than mine. Ask your Aunt Nat the next time she visits; she’ll back me up on it.” That was a bridge Clint would have to cross when they got to it, since she _would_ be out here, too, at some point. Hopefully after this had all been resolved; after Lila had been stabilized and Bucky had left. Speaking of Bucky leaving, however, they needed to head out to meet him at the north barn. “But we should get a move on. Put on something you can do a workout in while I try and figure out where the syrup ends and your brother starts.”

**• ↣☆↢ •**

Bucky lit his first cigarette before he even reached the dilapidated barn. It didn’t help – not like it would have before – but there was comfort in the habit, and in having something to fidget around with.

_Damn it,_ but he might have just made a mess of things, walking away like that, leaving Clint to fill in the gaps for… for Lila. And to clean up, which would take a while, given the state of Nate’s sticky hands. Bucky could guess he probably had a good twenty, twenty-five minutes, between the time it would take Clint to clear the table, clean up the toddler, and get all three of them out here. Today was just a warm-up; Bucky knew he could end things early if he got too muddled again. But he was also supposed to be the _expert._

He lit a second cigarette off the dwindling stump of the first, surveying the barn as he folded and pocketed the paper. Bucky had hung one of the heavy bags on a braced beam and started clearing out space for stacking the cinder block in the widest of the old stalls. The busted tractor he manoeuvred into the centre of the barn floor. The rest of the supplies remained where he and Clint had offloaded them, waiting to be used. Bucky didn’t need to check his watch for the time; two smokes would have put it around nine minutes since he’d gotten out here.

He wasn’t usually one for chain-smoking, but number three was already going as he shrugged off his coat and flannel, leaving him in an undershirt. He tugged the left sleeve of his flannel inside out and tied it into a knot, then yanked a hair tie out to put his hair up into a bun. Only one thing left to do. It was the worst part of this first-day plan, but – for now – it was a necessary precaution. Bucky hadn’t planned for any sort of sparring, but he was also half-panicked and about to spend a few hours with a teenager. Something could go _wrong._ Composite or not, he couldn’t risk Lila’s safety against his vibranium arm.

Bucky opened the print-locked access panel near his elbow. He tapped in the numeric code, taking a long drag, trying to ignore the nauseating imbalance as his arm powered down. It finally disengaged with a loud click, and Bucky lifted it out of the socket. Buttoning his shirt back on wasn’t so bad, but tucking it back in one-handed was a pain in the ass.

With that over, he stepped through the open door, trying to air himself out, and let the smell of tobacco dissipate from the barn. It was a little secret, and, for the moment, the easiest to keep.

**• ↣☆↢ •**

Nate had needed a good scrub down and change of clothes before Clint had been able to bundle him up and sit him in the kids’ old wagon. He’d considered simply carrying the toddler, but had wanted to keep at least one hand free in case something went _wrong._ Ideally, Nate wouldn’t be out here with them at all, but Clint had wanted to start in the morning, and naptime wasn’t for another five hours.

Lila trailed beside them, at least until they got within sight of the barn. She had started falling back then; by the time they passed his truck, Clint’s daughter was nearly behind him.

Bucky was waiting for them outside the south doors, leaning on what was left of the old fence-rail, chin in hand as he looked off into the woods. Add a cigarette, and Clint would have said he looked like a hotter version of the Marlboro man. Probably a good thing Bucky had promised _not_ to smoke when he and the kids were out here. That could have been embarrassing.

While Clint had been attending to Bucky’s profile, Lila had focused on something a little more relevant. His daughter proceeded to prove that – biologically related or not – she had inherited Clint’s regularly lacking tact when she asked, “Where’s your arm?”

Bucky took it in stride, standing and walking away as he answered her. “Tryin’ to give myself the appropriate handicap, that’s all.”

_“Why?”_

That did get more of a response from Bucky. He paused, glancing back long enough to quirk a brow and begin to open his mouth before Clint interrupted. “Jim is here to_ help,_ Lila.”

She turned back to look at Clint, head tilted in confusion. _“How_ is that gonna work with one arm, though?”

“The arm’s a little much for the first day.” Mostly ignoring the confused teenager standing between them, Bucky had walked to the middle of the barn. Now he patted his lone hand against the side of the old tractor parked there. “You’re sure it’s alright?”

Clint wasn’t entirely certain what he was agreeing to as he parked Nate’s wagon by an old trough and sat down. Bucky had only asked if he cared about the rusty 2630 getting a little beat up. It didn’t have any sentimental value, and Clint had said Bucky could use it for a _demonstration._ While he was wary to say _yes_, it wasn’t like the tractor could get any less broken; it wasn’t going anywhere, not in its current state.

Unless _something_ went wrong. He glanced down at the toddler playing in the wagon at his feet. Better to be ready to run, just in case. Clint picked Nate up, holding him in his lap before he answered. “That tractor hasn’t rolled on its own since the first time I had a mohawk.”

“Perfect.” The grin the other man flashed him didn’t do anything to ease Clint’s concerns. Bucky nodded toward Lila, then tipped his chin at the tractor. “Lila, I want you to push this thing across the floor.”

“What?! That’s crazy.”

“Could be, but I’ve seen my share of crazy.” Bucky stepped away, waving Lila on one-handed. His face settled into one Clint had seen more than once when they sparred; all relaxed half smile and serious grey eyes. “Go on. Push it.”

“That thing’s gotta weigh a tonne.”

“Just over two an’ a half, actually.” He couldn’t cross his arms with the left one off. Bucky got about halfway through the motion, then settled for putting his hand on his hip. “C’mon, kid. Get to it.”

“Pop?”

“You need to listen to Jim, Lila. I-” Clint choked on that sentence. It wasn’t the sort of thing a father was ever,_ ever_ supposed to have to say to his own kids. Wasn’t something Hawkeye was in the habit of saying in the field, either, but this time? This time it was the truth, though it galled him to give voice to it.“I can’t help you with this. Jim can, though, and he knows what he’s doing.”

Lila looked between them, head on a swivel. Her brows dropped as her lips pressed thin in frustration. Eventually, she turned and stomped her way over to the tractor. Clint blinked as his daughter levelled a scowl at Bucky that looked disturbingly like the one Barnes regularly slipped into on the field. “Can I use _both_ hands?”

“Just push it as far as you can.” For his part, Bucky offered only a shrug as he stepped back.

Lila lined herself up with the back of the tractor and pushed. Clint could see her back tense with the effort. After a moment, she pulled away, turning to the one-armed man beside her with a petulant, nodding shrug.

“Try again.”

His daughter’s sigh echoed back across the length of the barn.

Clint knew _that _particular huff from memory; knew that Lila had just rolled her eyes and was probably pout-glaring back at Bucky, with absolutely no idea that – one-armed or not – he could’ve taken her apart in seconds.

A quick glance at Barnes didn’t show much change in his demeanour, though he had quirked one brow. Clint wasn’t sure if it was in frustration at Lila’s behaviour or confusion at the continued immobility of the tractor.

Bucky’s terse answer offered some clarity. “Are you gonna keep wastin’ my time, or will you actually _push_ the stupid thing?”

“I don’t want to break it.”

The words that followed his barked out a laugh were harsh and judgemental. “You think you _can?”_

That comment seemed to spark something in Lila, even if it didn’t quite light a fire. She had always been stubborn; always _hated_ when he or Lau had tried to limit her, even when it was for her own good. It wasn’t an approach Clint would have taken, but Bucky questioning her ability – putting that challenge front and centre – definitely got a rise out of his daughter. Lila squared her shoulders, hunching lower and planting her feet on the dirt floor of the barn as she shoved.

Clint half expected her to move herself instead of the tractor, and she _did_ slide a bit, sneakers digging slow grooves into the packed earth. He shifted Nate on his hip, preparing to put his youngest back in the wagon and intervene if he had to.

Lila scooted further, heels pressing as she strained, grunting with effort.

A high-pitched squeal rose in reply from the old John Deer as it moved, slowly – _by inches_ – big rear wheels barely turning enough to be seen. Lila stepped forward, back heaving, shoulders tense, giving a last hard shove before she collapsed onto the dirt behind the John Deer. Despite her huffing, Clint could see her smirk as she defiantly tipped her chin back up at Bucky.

“Good deal.” Bucky offered her a hand, yanking Lila up off the floor before immediately stepping back, as if _she_ was the danger in the room.

Lila smiled – proud, but not too smug – as she dusted off her hands on her pants. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” That knowing smirk was back and full on as Bucky nodded. “Could’ve moved it farther if the brake was off, though.”

“Whu-?” Lila look positively wounded as she blinked back at him. She flicked her eyes Clint’s way only for a moment, then stomped over to Bucky, hands fisted at her sides. “Jim, that’s not fair! How was it even supposed to roll _at all_ like that?!”

Ignoring Lila’s flustered grousing, Barnes literally side-stepped around her, shifting his shoulders and rolling his right arm back a few times as he squared up behind the tractor. Bucky planted his feet, pressed his palm against the rear bumper, and shoved.

The tractor held a moment, then an ear-splitting grind filled the barn. Something tore with a metallic shriek, and the tractor rolled. It trundled for several metres – nearly making it to the opposite set of barn doors – then came to an abrupt halt as the source of the noise was revealed. The rear axle snapped. The tractor heaved up off the barn floor before crashing back down as the left wheel fell off.

Clint jumped, not so much from the destructive commotion as from Nate’s answering shriek. “Pop-Tint? Too loud!”

He had to agree – “Sorry, buddy.” – but the absence of further noise and the addition of a good squeezing hug calmed the toddler well enough. “It’s all over now, okay?”

“‘Tay.” Nate squirmed in his lap, craning to look at the wreckage on the other end of the barn.

Lila, meanwhile was staring at the man who had _caused_ the damage, mouth half-open as she stuttered. “You… you-!”

_“That’s_ how it’s _supposed_ to roll.” Bucky looked back at her over his shoulder. “And _that_ is why I took the handicap.”

He stepped aside into one of the old stalls – leaving Lila still blinking in awe – and emerged a moment later with Clint’s battered red toolbox in hand. Bucky strode past Lila, dropping the toolbox in front of her as he went, and nodded at the shattered remnants of the old 2630. “Now, we gotta take this thing apart to clear off the floor.”

“Are you serious?”

He didn’t justify Lila with an answer, pointing down to the toolbox he’d set at her feet. “Either grab a wrench or start tearing off pieces.” He began doing the latter.

Clint could hear the metal shearing as Bucky twisted bolts off the remaining right rear wheel. He looked down at Nate with an apologetic smile. “Might be some more noises, buddy.”

From his spot in Clint’s lap, Nate looked up, chewing pensively on the cuff of his coat as he asked. “Tratter brote, Pop-Tint?”

“Yes, it is.” Clint winced as he saw Bucky reach underneath and yank out part of the drive-train.

“We fits?”

“Well, _no,_ uh…” His daughter had picked up the toolbox, though she hadn’t gotten within arm’s distance of where Bucky was literally pulling the old machine apart bare-handed. “Lila and Dime are going to take it apart, and we can watch.”

“‘Tay.” Nonplussed, Nate squirmed, reaching for the toys in his wagon until Clint put him back down.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> If the serum made Bucky and Steve’s bones stronger, why not Lila’s teeth, right?
> 
> Also, if you were wondering, Lila is referring to Barney when she mentions _“Mom and Dad.”_ As the oldest of the kids, Lila actually remembers him. So Barney is Lila’s _Dad,_ while Clint is her _Poppa_ or _Pops._
> 
> **Nate Translation:**  
“Wai-uh!? A-den? Ma’ poon?” – “Lila?! Again? Mas (more) spoon(s)?”
> 
> “Tratter brote, Pop-Tint?” – “Tractor broke, Poppa-Clint?”
> 
> “We fits?” – “We fix?”
> 
> “‘Tay.” – “Okay.”
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **Clint Barton Bingo: **Superhuman Strength
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> Life is full of decisions; Clint just wishes he could feel the slightest bit better about _any_ of his recent ones right now.
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Bucky had opted not to completely disassemble the tractor. The point wasn’t to figure out what was wrong with it – Bucky had no intention of fixing the damage – the point was to get Lila focused on something, to give him time to observe her going at a problem with minimal supervision, one that he knew was going to frustrate her. Distracting her also gave him more time to stall because – if he was honest with himself – part of him had hoped the tractor wouldn’t move at all; that, even if she wasn’t _quite_ average, Clint’s daughter wasn’t as much of a danger to herself and others as his co-worker had implied.

She _was_, though, and would continue to be, if her recent behaviour was any indication. Lila had been under the engine block, fighting to loosen a long-rusted nut. One minute, she was torquing the wrench, jerking it to get the nut loose; the next minute, Bucky’d heard a metallic groan. He’d turned to see the wrench bent in half, and Lila looking ready to beat the engine to death with it. _She’s fourteen._ Still a kid, but one who would need to become accustomed to constantly keeping herself in check. Which – he knew well – was going to be one of the hardest parts about all of this practice.

Bucky reached to tap her on the shoulder as lightly as he could. “Hey, we’re done with this for now.”

“But-”

“We’ve got other stuff to work at. C’mon.” He slid from beneath the shattered remnants of the tractor, dusting his hand on his pants. Bucky had a feeling she was going to keep arguing with him about everything, or at least protesting. It was _obnoxious._ Worse than Clint, _certainly_ worse than him, and- Bucky didn’t want to think that way right now.

“Are you guys finished already?” Clint’s voice wafted softly from where he had set up at the other end of the barn; paperback in hand, foot rhythmically scooting the wagon back and forth. Nate was curled up with his blanket, dozing as he chewed on his sleeve. “That was fast.”

Bucky could hear Lila grunt as she shimmied from beneath wreckage they’d made. “No, we’re not-”

“_Yes,_ we are.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder, fighting a scowl. “_For today,_ we are _done…_ At least with that.”

“There’s more?!”

“Lila-!” Clint’s shouted-whisper carried. Bucky looked up to see him glaring as he pointed to the toddler still asleep at his feet. Bucky had seen – and _heard_ – that kid cranky; he could understand Clint’s annoyance.

Bucky took a breath to calm himself, then turned to address the pouting girl walking behind him. “D’ya know how to wrap your hands? For sparring?”

“Yes?”

He must still be scowling, or at least look angry, for her to be that unsure when she answered. Bucky pointed to the stall where he and Clint had hung a heavy bag a few days prior. “Then head over there and grab some wraps, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Wait, right now?” She was still trailing behind him, even as Bucky crossed the barn toward her dad and younger brother.

“You _like_ being suspended?” Bucky ignored her huff, shuffling up to Clint, whose eyes tracked the girl as she walked away. After a minute, Barton shifted to look back at him, and Bucky lifted his arm in request. “I’m gonna try her on the bag, but,” _Shit_, was it ever embarrassing to ask this, “could you cuff my sleeve?”

He wasn’t going to question why Clint looked almost relieved when he replied. “Sure, Jim.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

They’d been at this for _two damn hours!_

Bucky considered himself fortunate that either Laura or Clint had taught Lila how to properly throw a punch. It saved him from having to correct her form, let him brace the other side of the heavy-bag as she struck it. Still, Bucky could feel the alteration in the rhythm of her strikes, even if he couldn’t see her. “Your wraps getting loose?”

“No-!” The weight of the bag shifted as he held it, Lila’s blows stopping; she must have been leaning against the bag. “My hands are starting to hurt.”

“Slow down, then, but tighten up your form. And quit hunching.”

“How long do I need to do this?”

“As long as you need to do it.” Given the huff Bucky got in answer, maybe it was better that he _couldn’t_ see Lila at the moment. He could understand her boredom; he hadn’t expected her to last this long, either. The tractor disassembly had taken a good chunk of the morning, but Bucky hadn’t expected to hit lunch time with Lila still throwing punches. At this rate, the bag would break before she did. _Not necessarily a bad thing._ The sooner either occurred, the sooner they could move on to something else. Bucky took a deep breath and readjusted his grip. Lila wasn’t the only one who could use a breather.

Neither, it seemed, was Bucky; he could hear Nate Barton’s high pitched voice even over the _thwack_ of his older sister’s punches. “Pop-Tint? Go potty?”

“You got it.”

“Go Dime?”

“Uh… Sure.” Clint shouted over to them, though – definitely for Bucky and probably for Lila, too – it wasn’t necessary. “Hey, Bu- Bruckner? Got a commode run!”

“Are we stopping?” Lila’s voice was a mixture of relief and excitement from the other side of the much abused heavy bag.

“I am; you’ll keep goin.’” Back braced against the bag, Bucky waved Clint over, motioning that he should bring Nate, too. When the pair got closer, he explained, “We’re gonna trade off and switch bags. Hold up, Lila!”

He stepped away as her punching abated, unhooking the heavily battered bag, tossing it to one side and grabbing another to hang in his place. Satisfied, Bucky held out his arm to scoop the smallest Barton into it; Nate helped by having the sense to hang on. Toddler now in hand, Bucky stepped aside, making room for Clint to take his place. “Count her down; two-hundred more or until she kills the bag. I’ll make some sandwiches.”

“Good deal.” Clint nodded amicably, chin tipping toward Bucky’s empty, inverted left sleeve. “You gonna be okay like that?”

“Done it enough times, right?” Bucky shrugged the littlest Barton a tad higher on his hip. “We can break for lunch when I get back with Nate. Until then,” Bucky peered around the bag to address Lila directly, “stop hunching.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Lila had kept throwing punches until Clint had lost sign of Bucky through the trees, and for some minutes after that, but she had slowed, and, now, nearly stopped. He could feel her slump into the bag. Clint gently pushed against it, jostling his daughter as he spoke. “Doodles, you need to keep going.”

“I don’t _care.”_ Lila continued to sag forward, but leaned around to look at him, cheeks flushed by more than exertion, clearly frustrated. “This is crazy. _Jim_ is _crazy!”_

“Lila, honey, you need to trust him.” There might be a lot of madness in him, but – for the moment – Clint had to have faith in Bucky’s methods.

His daughter rolled her eyes but squared off with the bag and started putting her full effort into her punches again. This time, though, she didn’t hold her words in check, either. “Pops this is too much. I feel like my arms are gonna fall off.”

“I promise you’ll feel better when this is over.” Barnes had said as much to get Clint to agree to start as soon as they had. “Jim says this’ll stop the hot flashes, okay? That’s good, right? No more night sweats?”

“Probably because I won’t have any fu-”

“_Lila.”_

“_-freakin’_ sweat _left_ when this is over.”

“Well, you _can_ get it over with sooner.” Clint had watched Bucky push her for over four hours, and he knew Lila was reaching the end of her rope. The conditions for her _practice_ had been pretty clear cut. Clint wasn’t sure if she could _do_ it, but dangling that carrot might keep Lila going a little longer. “Jim said you could stop if you broke the bag.”

“Yeah? Okay… Um…” Lila drew that syllable out, holding it until she squeaked up at the end. “Hey, Pops, step back a bit?”

Clint did, offering a bit of room, though he wasn’t sure why.

Lila circled the bag, running undoubtedly sore fingers across the leather and stitching, alternately bending over and then going on tiptoe as she went. Clint wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she must have found it. His daughter grinned, stopping in place and motioning him to take up position on the other side of the bag. “You ready, Pops? Because I am _done_ with today and I’m not stopping.”

Clint took a moment to shift to his left side, then nodded before he remembered she couldn’t hear that. “All good, Doodles.”

He was ready for her to just start wailing on it again, but this time Lila’s strikes were a bit slower, though Clint could tell they were more exactingly placed. If he had to guess, he might have said that – instead of aiming around the bag – Lila was repeatedly slamming her fists into the same single point. _Good thinking._ Bucky’s only instructions had been to keep going and not slump; he’d never said anything about finding or exploiting a weak seam.

Hell, if Barnes approached training like he and Steve approached jokes, that _might_ have been the point of this. Bucky had checked every damn bag he and Clint had hauled in, and traded out _that_ one in particular, so it was possible. Or maybe Lila just had Clint’s luck when it came to finding workarounds that skirted the boundaries of cheating. Either way, if it meant they were all finished and he could finally do something besides sit around and try not to feel useless, Clint was all for it.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Bucky came back with an armload of toddler and a wagon-full of sandwiches and potato chips to find Clint reading and Lila stretched out on the barn floor. It took him a moment to realize she was making a snow angel – a sand and sawdust and _floor dirt_ angel – with the exploded innards of the heavy bag. It had split down one of the side-seams – _Perfect._ – leaving the bag near empty, but still hanging from the crossbeam above it. Bucky didn’t bother to hide his approval as he called out, “I see ya got it.”

Lila tipped her head up long enough to make eye-contact, her challenging, self-satisfied smile telling Bucky clearly that she’d rather be giving him the bird than the lazy thumbs-up she actually offered.

So she was pissed at him. _So what?_ If it got the job done, what the hell did he care? Bucky wheeled the sandwich wagon closer, sitting next to Clint, adjusting Nate down into his lap. He nodded to the teenager still sprawled on the sand. “How long’d it take?”

“About twenty minutes.” The half of a turkey sandwich already in Clint’s mouth muffled his words. Barton nodded toward Nate, but reached to scoop him over onto his own leg without really asking. “I know you can multitask, but lemme give you a-” Clint glanced sheepishly back at him. “I did not plan that.”

“Nope.” Once the toddler was out of his lap, Bucky joined him in eating as well. They sat quietly – Clint tearing little chunks of sandwich off for Nate to enthusiastically gum while Bucky stared out the open door – until the fourth person in the barn finally dragged herself up off of the floor and over to their little picnic.

Lila wiped her hands briskly down the front of her t-shirt, then started eating; too quickly and too much, but Bucky wasn’t going to stop her. It would be easiest if she figured it out the hard way, and he wasn’t in the mood for another huff and an eye-roll just yet. “Good job.”

She didn’t look up, only reaching for another sandwich. “Shanksh.”

Bucky snorted. “So Nate, did you know you have the best table manners in your family?”

Nate might not have known quite what Bucky was saying, but he responded to the approving tone with a vigorous nod as he gnawed on a sliver of crust.

“Better than me?” Clint grinned.

Bucky chuckled, and – a bit surprisingly – Lila snorted as well. “I think that answers your question.”

Clint made an attempt to look affronted, but it was hard to take him seriously, considering that – even without Nate’s help – he seemed to be wearing more potato chips than he’d eaten. Humour aside, they drifted back into silence. Clint and Bucky stopped eating well ahead of Lila, though it took nearly as long for them to get Nate fed and de-crumbed as it did for her to finish.

When she did, she leaned back onto her hands, looking up at where Bucky and Clint sat on the upturned trough. “So is there more or…?”

“Yeah. You’ve got homework.”

“But you, sai-” Bucky wasn’t sure if she was too worn out to argue, or if she had just hit her daily quota for eye-rolling, but Lila set her jaw and nodded. “Fine, what’s my homework?”

“No cold drinks after dinner, and no leaving the house for the next eighteen hours.” There was snow in the forecast, and Lila wasn’t going to be anywhere near it.

“Um... why?”

“‘Cause it’s _home_work.”

Lila blinked, took a deep breath, and turned to Clint. “Captain America is _lamer_ than _that?”_

Beside Bucky, Clint’s eyes went wide and he wheezed, nearly toppling off of his seat.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

“Welcome home!”

Lau waved back to where Clint and Nate were waiting for her out on the porch. “You hold down the fort alright?”

“We did, right, buddy?” Nate was already worming around in his arms, so Clint set him down on the path to the driveway.

He toddle-jogged to Laura, grabbing her outstretched hand. “Mira, Momma!” Nate tugged at her fingers, trying to pull Laura back away from the house, tiny legs scissoring as she kept a slow pace beside him. “Dime an Wai-uh woud! An tratter brote! An Pop-Tint say ‘_no fits.’_ An Wai-uh hit!”

“The tractor did what now, Peanut?”

Lau scooped him up before they got more than a few feet, following Cooper, who took a moment to squeeze Clint around the waist. “The old one, Lau. Just Jim and me clearing it out of the barn. Lila helped.”

“Did she?”

Clint trailed behind her into the house, where Lila and Bucky had both opted to stay – on opposite sides of the living room deliberately _not_ speaking – for the rest of the day after lunch, at least until Lila had gone up to her room. As he closed the door, Nate turned his attention from Laura to Coop. “Toop, Toop, wotta waffuh an seywup an Wai-uh ate a poon!”

“Sure, she did, Nate.” Cooper chuckled, leaning down to hug him before slipping away. “Gonna go wash up, Mom!”

“Tell your sister to come down with you when you’re done.”

Their middle child pounded up the steps while their youngest proceeded to crawl up into Bucky’s lap, seemingly having had enough of interaction beyond drowsing on Dime.

Laura settled next to Bucky on the couch, listening to Coop move around above them before she dropped her voice and asked. “So things went well?”

“Think so.” Bucky shrugged, looking first to Clint, then her. “I mean, they coulda gone worse. She’s stronger than I thought she’d be.” His tone made Bucky’s feelings on _that_ pretty clear.

“And it would be better if she wasn’t?” Lau drew her knee up onto the sofa, swivelling to face him.

Bucky tucked back a few hairs that were loose form his ponytail, his answer honest, but none too hopeful. “I’d be less concerned about her having trouble down the road if she was less… _capable.”_

Laura’s head bobbed as she looked up at Clint, forcing him to try and look supportive. He thought Lila had done very well, but _he_ wasn’t the augmented super-soldier in the room; he could only say that he was proud of his daughter’s efforts… as well as her obvious restraint at _not_ yelling at Bucky in anything other than semi-annoyed confusion because – much as he might laud his teammate’s abilities – Clint sure as shit wouldn’t want to be taught _anything_ by the blank-eyed ball of salt Barnes seemed to become whenever Lila was around. He was pretty sure the teen deserved a gold star just for _not_ pulling her hair out and running off. _Yet._ “She made it through the whole session pretty okay, though, yeah?”

“Yeah, she did. It was a good start.” Bucky’s smile was a little forced, but it worked well enough; Laura relaxed away from him. “It just means we’ll be at this a little longer than I’d thought, but I’ve got plenty of time on my-” Bucky caught himself, immediately looking away from Lau to glance in Clint’s direction. “Don’t. Finish. That.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Dinner was quiet – pizza, since all three kids were tired and they hadn’t had it like usual the night before – though Bucky had shooed both him and Lau out of the kitchen to clean up, offering only a cryptic, “_You should rest up,”_ that did nothing to clear Clint’s confusion. They had agreed to walk out to get his arm afterwards; Clint easily navigating the familiar path to the old north barn even in the darkness, Bucky trailing quietly behind him until Clint slid the door aside.

“Thanks.” Barnes slipped past him, going to the end stall to retrieve his arm. He sat on the trough that had become their de facto seat that morning, laying the arm across his lap. One-handed, Bucky unbuttoned his flannel. He wriggled it down – chin nudging it off his shoulder so that it puddled around his waist – leaving him in just his undershirt a few moments later. Bucky’s left shoulder lowered and he twisted as his right arm slotted the prosthetic left one back into place. It re-attached with a loud click and drawn-out hiss as Barnes grimaced, face caught between pain and nausea.

Clint watched as Bucky’s arm ran through its calibration cycle, black and gold plates shifting and clacking softly until he finally clenched his fingers, exhaling slowly through his teeth. He pushed up, tugging his shirt back on, then pulling on the hoodie he’d left out there from the morning’s session. He sidled past with a perfunctory nod. “I’m heading out. Be back in an hour or so.”

“Where are you going?” From what Clint could tell, the obvious answer seemed to be _into the woods._

“Town?” Bucky slid his left hand into his pocket to pull out a near empty soft-pack. He tugged a cigarette from it, leaving one inside. Bucky slid out his matches, lighting the Lucky as he spoke. “I’m almost out.”

“You’re walking?”

“I was going to run. I can cut through the woods most of the way, right?”

“You _can,_ but you _shouldn’t.”_ Clint wasn’t going to just _let_ Bucky walk into town. Besides being a miles-long trip, there weren’t that many shops open _this_ late, even fewer that carried unfiltered Lucky Strikes. Not, of course, that Clint had just randomly thought to check on that once he realized they were Bucky’s brand of choice; he’d seriously planned to buy the man’s cooperation with the damn things if it had come to it. Beyond that, though, there was the issue that – wardrobe changes or not – Bucky very clearly wasn’t from around here. He’d have enough trouble wandering into places after dark without Clint there to vouch for him; it wasn’t worth thinking too hard about what might happen with Bucky running _alone_ through the night out here. “Those woods follow along property lines, and Lau isn’t the only SHIELD retiree in the area anymore. Someone might shoot you and say they mistook you for a bear.”

“A _bear?”_

“C’mon.” Clint ignored his side-eye, giving Bucky a pat on the shoulder and heading back toward the house and his truck. “I’ll drive.”

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Half the point of his plan to go on foot had been to get some fucking time to _himself_, to take stock and process the day. But Bucky hadn’t had a good retort to Barton’s bear comment – not one that was appropriate for their current level of interaction, anyway – and he could concede that it probably wasn’t the best idea for him to risk spooking the neighbours or bringing questions to Laura’s front door. Sitting with Clint in the cab of his truck would at least let him voice his thoughts without having to talk to himself for once. Bucky blew the smoke from his lungs out the window, distractedly watching it drift off into the night. “Lila’s scared of me.”

“She’s just…” Barton clicked his tongue. “… ticked off you made her work so hard. She’ll be over it by tomorrow.”

“That wasn’t _all_ anger, Clint.” Maybe by the end, when she was exhausted, but before then, well… “Some of it was _fear.”_

The one time Bucky wouldn’t have minded back-talk from somebody named _Barton_ was the time Clint opted not to answer. _Fuck._ That meant he’d seen it too; probably well before Bucky. He set his eyes back on the road, watching the asphalt roll by in the glare of Clint’s high-beams.

The slight glow of town had already begun to coalesce into a low but recognizable two-story skyline by the time Clint spoke up. “Bucky… Look, you punched the wheel off a tractor she could barely even _move;_ you’ve gotta expect Lila was going to be startled.”

“_You_ said she needed to know what I was capable of.” Bucky would have been fine going straight into taking the tractor apart if it was going to frighten his already taciturn student. Plus, without that little demonstration, he might have even felt alright keeping his arm on. _Maybe._

Clint reached toward him; it was a swift brush, but Barton did pat him on the shoulder. “And now she does. And – trust me on this one – it’s _a lot_ to handle at first.”

There was always an adjustment period when he met new people – at least, there had been since _meeting new people_ stopped being followed by _and killing them_ – so Bucky could concede to that point. Still, it would have been a non-issue if he had gone straight to the lessons instead of showing off, and it didn’t alter that fact that, “She’s _scared_ of me, Clint.”

“Maybe it’s more awe than fear?”

“Maybe you should’ve left me out of this?!”

The road was straight enough, and so completely empty even at only a little past eight, that Clint could look fully at him without needing to worry about traffic. “Yeah, maybe.”

They passed through the stoplight turned all-stop that marked the start of town without another word between them. Bucky watched the first gas station roll by, then the second; a corner quick mart, and then an actual smoke and spirits store. All places Clint could have stopped but didn’t. The truck rumbled along, creeping its way up the street until the road ended at the main county highway. Clint put it in park, the fingers on his left hand drumming against the wheel. “Look, I’ve got almost a full tank; we can make Des Moines before midnight and I can put you on a plane back to wherever you want to go.”

Bucky couldn’t handle the apologetic sincerity. “That’s four more hours stuck in this seat, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m not goin’ anywhere.” In the short-term, four hours with a moping Clint wasn’t going to improve how shitty Bucky felt in the slightest; in the long-run, he’d be bailing on a promise, and leaving the Bartons to struggle on their own through what he knew from experience was going to be hellish for their daughter, and all because of a setback on day one. It was stupid any way he sliced it, and selfish on top of that. “Turn the damn truck around, Barton.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…”

Clint looked back over his shoulder, then in each direction up and down the highway. He drove into the crossroad, cut the wheel hard to the left, and spun the truck in a tidy circle that set them rolling right back into town. “Not sure how much it means, but… If anyone was going to help Li, I’m… I’m glad it’s you.”

Ignoring the hitch in that sentence was easier than addressing it, along with whatever the hell had just passed between them. “Be _glad_ you didn’t bring Steve. Lila looks too much like Becca. Stevie had an awful crush on her, and he’s shit with secrets.”

“Yeah,” Clint chuckled, “he really is.”

Bucky kept talking, eager for once to fill the silence with words, if only to keep from having too much time to fill it with thinking. “And you seriously considered Dr. Banner?”

“I mean…”

“I _mean_.” Bucky could feel the panic and frustration creeping their way off of his face; he couldn’t help it, considering how ridiculous _that_ notion was. “You honestly thought you could get Hulk to teach somebody to _not_ smash?”

“Maybe not my best plan.” Clint conceded, wheeling them into the parking lot of the little smoke shop they’d passed on the way out of town. “But he was higher on my list than Jones.”

“Didn’t she throw a car door at you?” Stepping down from the truck, Bucky dressed his last Lucky over the ash-can outside the shop door.

“Peter and I might have… _inconvenienced_ her? Besides, she’s too used to the city; this place would drive her nuts.”

“I can understand the sentiment.” Even without the strain of his unusual relationship to Clint’s daughter, Bucky would’ve been in overwhelm _and_ underwhelm out here. Between the three kids – one extra clingy – the isolation, and the utter lack of traffic noise, any long-time New York misanthrope might have found the out of the way Barton homestead unnerving. Though, unlike Jess, Bucky actually didn’t mind the kids.

“Not a fan of rural Americana?” Clint ribbed him with his elbow.

Bucky had to roll his eyes. “Did I _ever_ give the impression I was?”

Barton stepped back, looking him up and down, face oddly sober. “No. No, you’re a city boy, through and through, Barnes.” Clint reached past him to hold the door.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

Clint was careful not to initiate any further conversations on the drive back, wary of setting Bucky off a second time, of making things bad between them again. _Worse between them again,_ since they had only just barely gotten back to good for a few moments this morning during practice. The kids were all in bed when they returned, which was a little unusual, but not too weird considering how much they’d done that day; Coop had played four games, and Lila had… _broken_ a lot of things – a _lot_ of things – so Clint wasn’t surprised when his sister-in-law was the only one still awake downstairs.

What _was_ surprising was watching Bucky go back to his room, change into the lounge pants and t-shirt that Clint knew passed for his pyjamas when he was on base, and then _stay_ inside the house. It had been close to two weeks, and not once had Barnes actually slept overnight under their roof, despite the appearances he might be keeping up for Lau and the kids. “You alright, Jim?”

“Just waiting on Lila.” Bucky hadn’t even looked up from his phone.

“She was out like a light almost as soon as you left, Jaime.” Lau shook her head with a sigh. “Are you planning to stay awake until breakfast?”

“She’ll be up again.”

Laura was staring back at Clint now, but he had no clue either. Bucky wasn’t saying anything further – Barnes was back to reading on his phone – leaving them to shrug to each other and let it rest.

Bucky was still thumbing through whatever had captured his interest, eyes focused on the screen of light in his palm, when Lau mussed Clint’s hair and padded up the stairs to bed. It was another few minutes before Bucky finally acknowledged him, if only verbally. “How long’d it take her to find the seam?”

Clint was torn between relief that Bucky was voluntarily speaking to him and shock that his theory had actually panned out. “About ten minutes.”

“And another ten to pop it?”

He nodded, realizing Bucky had actually put his phone away and was looking back. “You picked out that bag on purpose?”

“I picked out that _seam_ on purpose.” Bucky sat cross legged on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and mouth set in a pressed-lip frown. “Did two exactly the same; broke mine Thursday night for comparison.”

“And?”

“Two and a half minutes right-handed.” His brows had dropped; Bucky was full-on scowling.

“So four times as long? Or eight, since she used both hands?” Clint wouldn’t have expected Lila to have finished anywhere near as quickly as Bucky – she really only knew how to throw a punch because Laura had insisted on teaching the kids a bit of very basic self-defence – but he was still more than impressed that she’d done it at all. _He_ certainly couldn’t have, not in that amount of time. The question was whether this news was better, or worse; was Bucky scowling because his assessment had been wrong, or because it had been correct? “Is that _bad?”_

“I’m not certain it’s _good,_ Clint.” Across from him, Bucky set his chin in his left hand. “She’s untrained, and – between her age and you two keeping her out of sports – she’s got minimal muscle mass; she’d already spent hours on that other bag, so she had to be flagging, and she still did _that,_ so… I dunno. We’ll see-” Barnes cut himself short, the both of them looking back at the sound of the stairs squeaking.

Clint could see his daughter shakily coming down the stairs, eyes red-rimmed and hair stuck limply to her forehead. He was on his feet immediately, already walking toward her as he asked. “What’s wrong, Doodles?”

“I feel gross. Like I’m gonna hurl.” Lila sniffed, burying her face against his side.

His hand went first to push her hair back, wrist pressing to her forehead – _Shit!_ Wasn’t today supposed to help _stop_ this?! – before Clint rubbed what he hoped was a soothing stroke down her back, smoothing the sweat dampened t-shirt that clung to her. “Crap, Li; you’re soaked.”

“I’ll be okay, Pops.” She gave him a tiny squeeze and leaned away. “I’m just down for some water.”

“I’ll get it.”

Clint had almost forgotten Bucky was still down here with them. He nodded; confused, if grateful. “Thank you, Jim.”

Bucky shrugged, uncurling from the couch and walking back into the kitchen. The tap ran for a long while – long enough that Clint vaguely thought it unusual – before he returned, left-handedly passing a mug, not a glass, over to Lila.

Clint watched his daughter take the cup with a smile, only to cough as she took a sip. “This is _warm.”_

“Yes; it is.” Still stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, Bucky nodded back to her. “Cooling yourself down every time will make it worse, but you probably _do_ need the water.”

“She’s like a furnace, _Jim,”_ Clint paired the stress in his voice with his own glare over Lila’s head. “Feels like she has a fever.”

“Sure she does, but trying to cool her off is just encouraging her body to keep burning energy up.” Unfazed, Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, moving to stand so that he effectively blocked the arched opening between the rooms. He tipped his chin up, voice steady. “If it can’t void the excess, her body’ll get used to storing it. _Eventually._ She’ll be alright. She needs to go back to bed.”

“_She_ can hear you,” Lila groused at Bucky, voice ragged, still clutching her mug of warm water.

Barnes sighed loudly through his nose, eyes rolling as he glanced over his shoulder. Jaw set, he turned back to look down at Lila. “Go back to bed, kid.”

Fists balled at her sides, Lila was doing her best to scowl up at him, but there was no way she was winning a glare-off with Bucky, no matter how hard she might be trying. Her lower lip quivered and she stomped a bare foot against the hardwood, voice plaintive. “Can’t I just step on the porch for a minute?”

Undeterred and stone faced, Bucky shook his head. “Homework; it’s only been twelve hours.”

Huffing through her nose, Lila turned on her heel, muttering softly – ”_No mames-!”_ – stalking back to the stairs and up them.

Clint was silent until he heard her door close – quietly – releasing a breath he hadn’t noticed himself hold. At least she hadn’t slammed the door or woken up either of her brothers or Lau. Clint dropped his head into his hand, squeezing his temples before rounding on Bucky, still stood in the doorway. “What the fuck was _that_ about?”

“Crash course in shitty, knock-off super-soldiering.” Barnes at least had the grace to look somewhat apologetic. “I know it sucks – believe me, Clint, I _know_ – but it’s likely gonna get a little worse before it gets any better.” Bucky turned, slipping back to the guestroom and locking the door behind him, leaving Clint alone with his doubts.

**• ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ • ↣☆↢ •**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> Special thanks to Spaceluna for her help, WeepingNaiad for her patience and encouragement. Thanks to RGW and SB7 for leaving comments that regularly give me hand-flap feels, especially when my weeks are as whacked-out as this last one.
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **WinterHawk Bingo:** Regret (N2)
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**
> 
> **Clint Barton Bingo:** Clint Barton’s Farm (N2)
> 
> **• ↣☆↢ •**


End file.
